


Seeing in Colour

by BrowniePower



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Canon Divergence, Daredevil vs Hate Group, F/M, Family Fluff, Friendship, Hate Crimes, Matt has a Protégé, PoC, Political Thriller?, Sibling Bonding, Slow Build, Theology Conversations, post S1, woc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrowniePower/pseuds/BrowniePower
Summary: Salma is just another Muslim girl in New York City, except she has 5 younger siblings to look after, and one of them is blind. And so is her neighbour’s new lawyer.Matt forms an unlikely friendship with a Muslim family just as a new surge of white supremacy makes its way to Hell’s Kitchen.Because it’s time a superhero faced actual real-life threats.





	1. “Definitely a set-up”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set after Season 1 (much happier place to start than after S2) and is my first ever fanfic so all feedback is more than welcome.  
> I was kind of inspired by the fact that Matt is basically the only religious superhero on TV and I feel like that’s a really good setup for introducing more POC around him – especially since the show is set in New York. But obviously Marvel isn’t quite as progressive as it could be, so hey why not do it for them.  
> Also as much as I love the show it kind of irritates me how it stereotypes foreigners and so this is very much about dealing with actual domestic threats. Hope you guys enjoy!

Salma groaned at the roughly taped ‘Out of Order’ sign on the elevator. Shifting her 3-in-1 grocery bag, she reached into her coat pocket for her phone.

“Hey, so I’m downstairs, the lift is out again and I have enough food for a small army. Or you know, just you boys.”

“Ok cool let me just – _will you put that down!_ _Nonono Rayan wait don’t -”_

The muffled sound of domestic chaos was like music to her ears. The kind that gets annoying very quickly but you can’t help but love it all the same. It was the squealing of mischievous infants that really made her smile.

“Yeah ok I’ll be right down,” Hamza finally said hurriedly before hanging up.

Setting her bag on the floor against her jeans, she leaned back and rolled her shoulders in her moment of quiet freedom. She wasn’t entirely incapable of lugging the weight up 6 floors, but it would probably consume her of the energy she’d need to handle anti-bedtime attitudes. As the door to the stairwell creaked open she straightened. Her teenage brother was unlikely to have sprinted down to her.

“- definitely a set-up, and hey it’s not like you don’t need it! What with your lone-wolf complex and all.”

“Foggy, I do not have a lone-wolf complex.”

“You know, acceptance is the first step to recovery.” The blond man patted his friend on the back in mock-empathy, laughing as he let go of the door he had been holding open.

Salma couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably, her boots clicked together as she curled her fingers in her pockets. It was a default reaction when she was in a room alone with men, white men at that. Catching sight of her, the blond man offered a polite smile, before he and his friend exited the small hallway.

In her surprise, she had almost forgotten to smile back. Strangers were rare enough in her building but it was the long white cane held by the less-jovial of the two that had caught her attention. 

“I’m here! _Please_ tell me they had that gross banana milk.” Her brother was already bending to pick up all 3 bags at once. He stood, brown eyes looked down into hers almost desperately. “The twins are already grumpy, I seriously need something to bargain with.”

“Since when have you been taller than me?” Salma folded her arms at her little brother accusingly.

“Since ages!” 

She hummed disapprovingly, “1 litre of banana milk. And that’s in addition to the regular milk, which means you’re carrying _way_ too much to go up six flights. Gimme a bag.” 

Hamza rolled his eyes at her and pointedly held the staircase door open.

 

* * *

 

“You know I wasn’t sure if I could believe what everyone was saying about you two, but it’s true, most considerate lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen.”  
  
“Mrs. Morales you are too kind.” Matt smiled graciously as he put away the stack of papers they had spent the hour explaining. 

“And _thank you_ again for the food, those fritters are to die-for.” Foggy exclaimed, glancing almost mournfully at the empty plate.

“Almojábanas! Just like at home.” The middle-aged lady smiled up at them as they made their way to the front door. She hesitated at the entrance, Foggy didn’t seem to notice, already outside when he turned to see Matt waiting politely for her to finish. 

“In fact,” she continued, “with everything you’re doing for us, Joseph and I would love if you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening. Thursdays are a special night. We take turns with our neighbours from across the hall to cook something from home. Tomorrow I’m making chicharrones de pollo.” 

Before they could answer, Mrs Morales quickly added, “They’re really a lovely family, it would be wonderful if you could meet them.” 

A moment’s silence was followed by, “Of course, we would be honoured to join you for dinner.” Matt smiled as he reached Foggy’s outstretched elbow, and the two bid their newest client goodnight. 

Once the door clicked shut Matt asked quietly, “Did I miss something back there? That was…strange.” 

“Yeah it was,” Foggy grumbled as he started down the six flights of stairs. “Do you always have to talk to women like you’ve just walked out of a period-drama?”

Matt raised his eyebrows at his friend. 

“ _Honoured_. Really Matt?” 

He grinned. “I’m serious, she was nervous to ask us to dinner, like she wasn’t telling us everything.”

“Well either she’s got the drop on you and there’ll be a bunch of criminals waiting to take you out tomorrow – and I mean that in a violent and not cute date-like way – “ Matt snorted a laugh, “or, and the more likely scenario I might add, she’s trying to set you up with someone.” 

Matt’s brows furrowed at that.

Foggy sighed, “In my experience, old ladies are always trying to set you up with some nice girl they know. I don’t know what it is about you Matt but you should know, it’s incredibly annoying.” 

“Well maybe it’s you this time.” Matt offered, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“Yeah right, the way she was eyeing you in there, no chance.” He carried on as he reached the ground floor.

Opening the door to the hallway he stated decisively, “Yeah it’s definitely a set-up, and hey it’s not like you don’t need it! What with your lone-wolf complex and all.”

“Foggy, I do not have a lone-wolf complex.” 

He patted Matt on the back, hoping to come off as patronising, “You know, acceptance is the first step to recovery.” But Matt’s offended face was too comical to hold in his laugh so he didn’t bother trying. As he went to hold open the main door he noticed a woman standing by the elevator, blue scarf wrapped neatly around her head, with an expression that was all too familiar to Foggy. Her widened eyes were fixed on Matt’s cane, but registering his gaze on her, she looked up and hesitantly smiled back before the two made their way out.

Matt frowned as they stepped into the cold Manhattan air. 

“That woman in there, she was staring at me.”

“What’s new?” Foggy pulled his suit jacket tighter around him.

“It felt different, her reaction…” Matt couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“You know for most people you’re like the first blind guy they meet. Maybe where she’s from they don’t use canes.”

“Where she’s from?” Matt repeated, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh I mean she was…ok wait, yeah that was probably racist.”

Matt smirked as he shook his head disapprovingly at his now red-faced friend.

 

* * *

 

“Je n’suis pas fatigueé.” The little girl huffed as she crossed her arms in bed, glaring up as her big sister brushed a curl of dark hair from her cheek.

The rainbow stripes of the girl’s quilt contrasted comically with the stern scowl that had settled on her face. Her dark eyes were focussed on the adversary of her current dispute, lit with the fiery determination of only the most stubborn. 

Skilfully burying her amusement, Salma nodded seriously at the child, “I know, but maybe we can just lie down, just for a little while.” 

“And hear a story?” A boy’s voice piped up from the adjacent bed. 

“Yes! Pleeeaase Salma.” Two pairs of shining brown eyes peeked out from under equally cheerful covers. Each little dinosaur beaming up at the ceiling, a poetic reflection of their little masters’ emotional range. 

They looked on at their sister and waited expectantly. Salma peeked a glance at the little one and had to bite back a laugh when she saw the child’s inner struggle written across her face; her fierce resolve to not be subjected to bedtime routines was battling her utter delight in hearing stories.

“Alright,” Salma agreed as the boys squealed in excitement. Her sister was quiet – choosing to neither protest nor encourage the proceedings. 

Already prepared, Salma crossed her legs on her baby sister’s bed and began, “Il était une fois…” 

It was the first bedtime story she had ever told, a well-practiced tale of a brother and sister who bravely fought a dragon to save their kingdom from certain doom. She had come up with it a long time ago, in a desperate attempt to entertain a little boy who kept her up at night, but who she couldn’t have loved more. 

As the dragon flew over the castle for the second time, she observed how excited breaths turned calm. It was just as a sword had pierced through a gap in the dragon’s scales, that the final of the three pairs of drooping eyelids inevitably shut. Eventually, she placed a kiss on three sleeping foreheads and slipped away. 

“I remember that story,” she heard behind her as she clicked the door shut. 

Her teenage brother was leaning against the wall, hands half in his jean pockets as he tapped his foot to a song that wasn’t playing. 

“It was always your favourite.” Salma smiled fondly at her brother. The once eager and all-too stubborn toddler had never tired of her elaborate tales. 

He shrugged and ran a hand through his curly hair. “I liked anything with dragons. Isa’s still reading by the way.” 

Salma nodded, “I’ll get him to bed. You go on, chem test tomorrow,” she reminded him with an affectionate nudge. 

“I know…” he sighed, shaking his head as he retreated to his room. 

Salma headed to the living room, where she found the fifth member of her little clan. She paused at the doorway, allowing herself the time to enjoy the sight. The seven-year-old was leaning back on the couch, his dark mane spread messily, covering his ears and almost obscuring the image of his striking hazel eyes. His pupils were directed somewhere on the table in front of him as his hands slid methodically across the pages of his braille book. After a minute, his hands paused, he looked up towards the doorway and tilted his head in a question. “Time for bed?” 

“Yes habibi,” she replied. 

He hopped off the couch and walked slowly around the table to the old wooden shelf, knowing exactly where to place his book. He then made his way across the carpet to his sister, arms outstretched low in front of him, eventually reaching for Salma’s hand as she led him down the hall. 

As Salma watched her little brother brush his teeth, her thoughts wandered back to the blind man she’d seen earlier that day. She could kick herself for how she had reacted; she certainly knew what it was like to be stared at by strangers, both as the object and the object’s companion. A woman in a headscarf was one thing, but at the side of a little brown boy with a little white cane, that was far too interesting for spectators. She of all people should know better than to gape at someone for looking out of the ordinary. But it had just been such a surprise, someone just like Isa, in her own building no less. But what did it matter? She shook the memory from her mind; it wasn’t as if she would ever see the man again.

 

* * *

 

“See this? _A pay cheque_. Like money. Actual money.” Foggy was wagging the little strip of paper inches from Matt’s face as he sat across from him. 

“Actually no, I don’t see it.” The sardonic reply was as much as he deserved. The cheque smelt strongly of nail varnish, like whoever had written it had just come from a manicure. And it was being fanned straight into his receptor cells. 

“Fine. But I’m sure you can sense those zeroes with your mind.” 

“I’m not a psychic Foggy.” 

“So you say,” his friend replied with an air of suspicion.

Matt cast his eyes to the ceiling and found himself dwelling on (slightly idealized) memories of how much nicer Foggy had been to him before he had found out about his alter ego. At least he had stopped trying to talk him out of it, choosing for the sake of their friendship to avoid thinking about the practical dangers of his life and instead focus on its technicalities. Now as soon as Karen left for the day, Foggy would show up in his office to poke and prod him for more information on how his whole ‘secret powers situation’ worked. Foggy had even acronymized it. SPS. He would actually say that. 

“Anyway, we should celebrate. This is the most we’ve seen since Fisk and I don’t expect it to become routine anytime soon. Josie’s tonight?” 

“We have dinner remember. Mrs Morales.” 

“Ah yes! The blind date.” Foggy grinned as Matt looked unamused.

“You’re really gonna go there.” 

“You know, since I’ve learned that you’re actually scary talented and can basically see better than anyone on the planet, I kind of don’t feel bad about the blind jokes.” 

Matt breathed a deep sigh before getting to his feet to pack his things. 

“Well, whatever tonight is, I might need you to cover for me when it gets late.” 

“Hey whoever she is, I’m sure you could at least sit through the ni-” 

“It’s not that.” Matt always appreciated the freedom to roll his eyes with his dark glasses on. “There’s a weapons shipment coming in tonight. I got an alert from a contact on the pier. I don’t know the details yet but I’ll need to be there.” 

“Oh, right, yeah. Cover for Daredevil.” Foggy said suddenly lackluster.

“Foggy I -”

“No, we’re not doing that. We’ll have dinner, you go when you need to and it’ll be fine.” Foggy stated with forced resolve, before a swift return to his enthusiasm, “ _Fun_. It’ll be fun. But if she’s hot I’m gonna be really pissed.”

 

* * *

    

“It smells like heaven Lorena,” Salma revelled in the familiar scent of oregano, leaning back on the kitchen counter as her neighbour crouched in front of the oven. Mrs Morales always insisted that this was her night to cook, whoever showed up early was only allowed to watch.

Mr Morales didn’t have a night shift this time so Salma hadn’t removed the black scarf that was pinned carefully around her face. And anyway, Lorena had mentioned something about additional guests this week. 

“It does! It smells yummy!” A little girl in blue polka dots rushed in, arms spread, looking expectantly at her sister. Salma laughed and reached down to perch the toddler on her hip. Her indigo knee-length sweater matched perfectly with the blue of the child’s dress. Of course it did, that was why she had picked the dress.

“You think so Imane?” Lorena asked as she laid down the completed dish on the counter. “I think, maybe, we’re missing just _a pinch_ of our special ingredient. Do you think you could help me?”

“Oui oui oui,” Imane clapped her hands in excitement. 

“And in español?” Lorena raised an eyebrow. 

The little girl laughed, “Sí!”

Mrs Morales held out a jar of paprika for Imane to reach into, and as the infant sprinkled some over the fried chicken, a knock was heard on the front door. 

“Ay, mija I forgot to tell you!” Lorena said, almost frantically, as her husband went to let in the guests. 

“No no it’s fine, you said you invited someone else.” Salma meant to reassure her as she shifted Imane in her hold. She was getting a bit too big for this. 

“Yes but I was supposed to explain…never mind, they’re here now. Come, come.” She ushered them out of the kitchen 

Salma would have gasped if the toddler in her arms had not – thankfully – reacted a lot quicker than her. 

“Who are you?” The little girl demanded of the two strangers in their neighbour’s living room. Salma was too surprised to even scold her for the lack of manners. 

Before her stood the very same men that had passed by her the night before. The blond one, with his hair grown to his neck, who had smiled at her despite her very rude reaction to his friend, who incidentally, had also turned up, dark glasses, white cane and all.

The blind one – Salma mentally punched herself for calling him that – had a genuine smile on his face at the question.

“Matthew Murdock.” He tilted his head forward, it vaguely reminded Salma of a cowboy tipping his hat. “And this is my associate, Foggy Nelson.” He gestured to his friend, who was looking at Salma with about as much surprise as she currently felt. 

“And who might you be?” Murdock asked gently, making his way forward with the help of his cane so he was face to face with both Salma and Imane. His head was directed down, which made sense, Salma thought, since he was clearly talking to a child. But his head snapped up when Imane responded from much closer.

“Imane. I’m three years old.” She held out three fingers in front of her. “And a half,” she added, unconsciously tossing her halo of black curls. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Imane.” He said with a smile. 

“This is my sister Salma,” she said formally as she mimicked his previous gesture with his friend.

The blond man in turn reacted with, “Like the actress!” 

Salma realised she’d been standing in complete silence the whole time. 

“Oh, yeah. Um, hi. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled uncomfortably at the two men, but before they could respond Mrs Morales finally stepped in. She and her husband had been watching the whole exchange without bothering to hide the amusement on their faces.

“Mr Murdock and Mr Nelson are lawyers, they’ve been helping us with some property work.”

“Oh I see,” Salma didn’t know what else to say. 

“Mrs Morales was kind enough to invite us for dinner,” Murdock began before Lorena interrupted. 

“And I’m so glad the two of you could make it. Why don’t you all sit down and I’ll fetch some drinks.” 

As the party took their seats in the small living room, Mr Morales explained to the men, “Salma and her family live across the hall. And yes, every one of them is as charming as this little one.” He grinned as he gave Imane’s cheek a pinch. She huffed at the gesture, and rubbed her cheek angrily. Both the lawyers appeared to find that amusing.

Still perched on Salma’s lap, Imane turned abruptly to the blind man – Mr Murdock – and bluntly asked, “Are you blind?” 

“ _Imane_.” Salma was no longer too distracted to pick up on her sister’s barely developed social skills. 

“It’s alright,” he said reassuringly in no particular direction. But when he answered he appeared to focus on the little girl, whose gaze was so intense, surely even he could feel it.

“I am.” He said simply. 

The toddler nodded sagely, “My brother is too.” 

At that, his eyebrows shot up, and Salma completed the mental image of his surprise with widened eyes under his glasses. His friend too seemed taken aback. 

“But his stick is smaller than yours,” the little girl continued obliviously.

“Yes, where are your brothers?” Mr Morales asked, prompting Salma to speak. 

“Monopoly.” She answered as she guided Imane’s fingers away from the tear in the old couch. “It was getting a bit intense when we left but it won’t last too long. Should be here soon.” Salma just realised she had no idea what to do when that happened. How do you introduce two blind people to each other? She held back a face-palm as that thought crossed her mind. Like it would be any different to usual introductions to either of them.

As if on cue, the door swung open to raised pre-pubescent male voices. 

“C’était pas juste!” Declared two voices in unison. Twins were odd like that. 

“Life’s not always fair,” came the older voice of her teenage brother, ever the philosopher. He walked into the living room holding the hand of the accidental special guest. Isa’s gaze was aimed at the far wall as Hamza abruptly stopped them both. The twins came rushing in behind them, placing themselves on either side of Salma out of habit, and only then noticed that they had new company. 

“Who are you?” Rayan immediately questioned them. 

“ _Rayan._ ” Both Hamza and Salma automatically admonished him. 

“Sorry,” Salma stated hurriedly, not sure exactly who she was apologizing to. “Er, these are my brothers. Rayan and Riyad,” she gestured to the two beside her. 

“We’re five years old,” Rayan interrupted as both the twins held out five fingers. Solid social skills all round. Salma chose to ignore that for now.

She went on, “that’s Hamza and – “ 

“That’s Isa. He’s blind like you.” Imane finished for her. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Salma was practically all out of mental face palms for the day, so instead she sighed and said, “Right well, boys this is Mr Murdock and Mr Nelson, they’re lawyers for Mr and Mrs Morales, and they’ll be joining us for dinner, ok?” She intended to convey a warning tone, so they knew not to follow-through with more unnecessary questions. Instead it came off more as a desperate plea.

“Ok,” at least the twins seemed satisfied. 

Hamza on the other hand raised his eyebrows at her and it was all she could do to restrain a shrug in response. After all, only one of the men was blind. 

“It’s nice to meet you all,” the blond lawyer offered. His smile finally seemed genuine and without its previous component of confusion. His friend on the other hand seemed at a complete loss for what to do, his head was just barely leaning in Isa’s direction, and his lips were still slightly parted in what Salma could only interpret as shock. With a slight nudge from his friend – Nelson – he seemed to recover. 

“Yes, I’m glad we came. The food smells wonderful Mrs Morales.” He said, impressively addressing her as she was just setting down drinks in front of them. 

“I helped,” Imane reported in response. That earned her a grin from Murdock. Sensing an opportunity, Salma – desperate for an escape – set the toddler down on her own seat as she excused herself to follow Lorena into the kitchen. 

As she left she noted that the conversation appeared to flow from there, granted, it was mostly the kid trio, but the lawyers didn’t seem to mind. She glanced back to see that Hamza too was at least catching up with Mr Morales. Only as she entered the kitchen did she notice that Isa had followed her in, he reached up to hold her hand. She could feel his anxiety through his grip. 

“So you won again huh?” She successfully teased out a smile.

“The twins are still too little,” he shrugged, despite the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. 

“Yeah but you always beat me _and_ Hamza so what’s your excuse there Mr. Genius?” 

He shrugged again with a broad grin on his face. It disappeared as quickly as it came. 

“Imane said that man in there is blind. Like me.” It was a question. 

“Seems so little man.” She waited for him to get his thoughts together. 

Lorena was looking over at them sympathetically as she gathered some cutlery. Slowly he stated, “I’ve never met a blind adult before. Macy says there are lots in her school but…I’ve never met one.” 

Salma bent to his eye level, and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “There’s a first time for everything habibi,” she said to him quietly. 

“You wanna go in there and see what he’s like?” She squeezed his hand encouragingly. 

“I think I can do that.” He said with a quiet confidence. He then smiled up, as if to reassure Salma that he meant it, and turned back to the living room in the flat he already knew.

Salma turned to the older woman who was now just waiting for her. 

“I meant to tell you before, slipped my mind with all the cooking. I’ve been on the phone with them these last two weeks and only actually met them last night. Thought it would be nice for the boy to meet someone like him.” Mrs Morales ended hesitantly, waiting for confirmation that her actions had been welcome. 

“It was very sweet of you Lorena. Thank you. Really.” 

*

Matt had been in and out of the conversation, which was easy enough to manage with children. That, and Foggy was handling himself pretty well, enjoying it even. 

“Is Foggy your real name?” Came the blunt curiosity that Matt found highly endearing. 

“Unfortunately no,” his friend sighed dramatically, “my real name is Franklin. You kids got any nicknames?” 

“Salma calls us mushrooms when we do something bad.” Rayan supplied. 

“Mushrooms?”

“She doesn’t like mushrooms.” Riyad explained solemnly. 

“That makes sense,” Foggy nodded understandingly, matching the seriousness of his companions. 

Matt held back a smile as he leaned his head towards - “Imane said that man in there is blind. Like me.” He could hear the hope disguised as scepticism in the boy’s voice. Something about it made his heart drop, the rest of the conversation seemed to only make it worse. 

“I think I can do that.” The rush of blood in the boy confirmed a clear mix of nerves and excitement. Matt realised with a jolt that he had as much experience in this situation as the boy did. 

By the time the boy had come back, Mrs Morales was summoning them to the dinner table. As he sat where Foggy had led him, he registered that the blind boy had come up to sit next to him. 

* 

The boy had been quiet for most of the meal, Matt heard no changes in his heart rate; he was concentrating on something, or possibly, everything. Matt couldn’t tell and he found himself confused not for the first time that night. He was wondering whether, as the adult, he was expected to take initiative here. After all of Foggy's ramblings about tonight, this was far from the situation he had anticipated.

“I’m Isa.” Said the voice on his right. 

Matt caught himself before he turned to him, there was no point in that. 

“I’m Matt.” He said, he hoped the smile came through in his voice. It seemed to have because a moment later the muscles in the boy’s face moved so he was beaming. 

“You’re a lawyer.” Isa stated. 

“I am.” 

“Even though you’re blind.”

 Matt smiled again. This time he did turn to the boy, and was slightly taken aback by how naturally Isa responded to the motion, turning to also face him. 

“You read braille?” Matt asked the child. 

“Yes,” he responded calmly, “French and English.” 

Matt raised his eyebrows at that, “Impressive.” 

Isa shrugged and waited for Matt to respond to his statement-question. 

“Being blind…” He started slowly, “It has its challenges, but it doesn’t have to stop us from doing the things everyone else can do.” Matt was acutely aware that both Foggy and the boy’s older sister were listening carefully. 

“Sometimes,” he continued slowly, “it means we can do things other people can’t do.” That seemed like a kid-friendly thing to say. 

Isa seemed to be reflecting on that, before nodding in agreement. Then he paused, probably realising that Matt couldn’t see him nod. 

Their conversation was swiftly interrupted by Imane demanding Matt’s attention. It was somewhat of a relief, toddlers were easier to talk to, and Matt was already well out of his element. 

The rest of the dinner-table conversation was dominated by Foggy and the children. Imane had expressed her indignation at never being allowed to participate in Monopoly, and Foggy had responded with a passionate speech on how unethical the game was anyway; promoting illegal business practices to children. They didn’t seem to get the economic jargon but they all certainly liked the idea that by losing they were on the moral high ground. 

The meal ended conveniently early, partly because it had been genuinely entertaining, and also because there were young children and it was a school-night. Matt and Foggy thanked Mr and Mrs Morales again for the dinner. 

“It was spectacular, best chicharrón _ever_. I mean I assume so, I’ve definitely not feasted on that culinary brilliance before.” Foggy said to a laughing Mrs Morales. 

“It was slightly adapted,” she explained, “I make it without the rum for our neighbours. Because, you know…” she trailed off in a way Matt was used to, except generally in the context of someone not wanting to explicitly talk about his blindness. The comment had in fact sparked his interest, and he realised too late that his expression was one of apparent curiosity.

“We’re Muslim.” Salma explained. He’d figured as much. 

“Catholic.” He replied with a small smile, earning him a flicker of surprise. Fair enough, since it had been mostly him caught unawares that night, although, he reflected, that wasn’t entirely true. 

In contrast, the little boy, Isa, was practically bristling with excitement at his revelation. Matt couldn’t make sense of it.

For the second night in a row, Matt left the same apartment building utterly confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Je n’suis pas fatigue (French)= I’m not tired  
> il était une fois (French)= once upon a time  
> habibi (Arabic) = darling (kind of – basically a term of endearment)  
> Oui (French) = yes  
> Español (Spanish) = Spanish  
> Sí (Spanish) = yes  
> mija (Spanish) = daughter/dear  
> C’était pas juste (French) = It wasn’t fair
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Chapter 1 and 2 are very much to set everything up, action picks up in Chapter 3.


	2. “While we’re being frank”

Everyone hates high school. Well, everyone with half a brain who knows that there is nothing sane about putting a bunch of teenagers in a building together and expecting them to all play nice. And so it’s not just the students who hate it.

Friday had been a particularly excruciating day for Salma. Sophomores were the worst; college was too far away for lessons to seem remotely important, and high school wasn’t novel enough to be intimidating. She sent a mental thanks to God for what a good kid Hamza was; 15 and emotionally stable, he was a gift straight from heaven. In contrast, _her_ students decorated her classroom with paper planes, and obscene images paired with the most random of French vocabulary. 

“Ok,” she sighed at the three culprits left behind at the bell, “you know where the janitor’s room is, ask him for whatever gets pen ink off of our tables and then _get scrubbing_. And _be grateful_ that I stopped you before you used a marker. Any questions?” 

“Yeah,” one white boy raised his hand obnoxiously, “how long is your hair?” 

Swearing at a student was definitely against school policy, but did it count if it was in a language they didn’t understand? Best not to find out. 

“Kieran,” she turned to one of the other boys, who at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Go to the janitors, you have 5 minutes.” He nodded quickly and rushed out. 

At that, she turned to the stack of papers she had to mark, expertly tuned out the continued inappropriate ramblings of the white boy, and took an hour to sift through a good three quarters of the pile. All the while, the evidence of incompetent students was slowly being scrubbed away in an atmosphere of regret and fading upper body strength. Salma was partially satisfied. 

Once she had the room to herself, she rested her head on the base of her palms and massaged her temples in reflection of the previous night. Isa wasn’t prone to palpable enthusiasm, and yet their unusual dinner had left him enlivened in a way she’d simply never seen him before.

Last night she could feel him making a concerted effort to repress his words in the time it had taken her to put the trio to bed. Finally, she had sat him down on the sofa and simply stated, “Go on then.” 

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Her little brother had blurted. 

Dealing with the hopes and dreams of children would always be dangerous territory. With this in mind, Salma had paused before replying, “From what I understand, they’re still doing work for Mr and Mrs Morales. So I’m sure she’ll be in touch with them for a while. I don’t know if they’ll be back here but…if you want to seem him again, I could ask?” 

She recalled Isa’s hesitation at that. The little boy had been overwhelmed with so many emotions and hadn’t yet had the time to process any of it. Not to mention her own apprehension. They had agreed to both sleep on it and figure it out together in the coming days. 

Salma exhaled slowly into her hands before rising to her feet. Smoothing the skirt of her dress she glanced over her classroom and made a mental tick in one of the boxes of her end-of-work-day checklist. 

Now she had toddlers to pick up, dinner to cook, and a nightmare of a pop quiz to prepare. She took the moment to adjust her scarf, pulling the fabric tighter under her chin, and set off with the resolve she so desperately relied upon.

 

* * *

 

Matt entered the office that day with three shiny new bruises under his shirt. Needless to say, it had been an eventful night. The weapons shipment had turned out to be from a supplier new to the city. They certainly hadn’t been warned about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt recalled a particularly amusing screech following a decent flying round-kick. 

The affair had been troubling though. The scale of the shipment in itself wasn’t too unusual, but it would have made sense for the buyer to be of the more well-known gangs, professional criminals at least. Instead, the men waiting at the docks seemed, at best, street bullies. Something didn’t add up.

“Morning Matt,” Karen greeted him looking up from her desk.

“Matt’s here? Great,” Foggy exclaimed as he came out of his office, “can we please talk about last night.” 

“What happened last night?” Karen asked curiously. 

“Morning Karen, Hi Foggy,” Matt replied casually, leaning his cane against the wall.

Foggy rolled his eyes and turned to Karen. “We had dinner with a new client, who it turns out was sneakily setting up a meet-and-greet.” 

“Oh?” 

Matt removed his jacket as he let Foggy explain. 

“Yeah, cute family, Matt’s got some new fans.” 

“She wanted you to meet her family?” 

“Her neighbours,” Matt finally offered. “One of the kids, he’s blind.” 

“Oh!” Karen exclaimed, before her heartbeat flickered in embarrassment. 

“So are you gonna go back? Hang out with your new friend?” Foggy demanded. 

Matt cast his eyes to the ceiling, “Because that wouldn’t be weird at all.” 

“Of course not,” his friend scoffed. “They didn’t invite you just for one pep talk, you could totally be that kid’s Miyagi.”

“What was the pep talk?” Karen asked, curiosity now etched into her voice. 

Matt took a second to recover from the Miyagi comment – his own experience of a mentor hadn’t ended quite as well. 

“It was nothing,” he shrugged dismissively as he entered the doorway of his own office. 

“And I’ll think about it.” He directed firmly at Foggy, who had just opened his mouth to continue probing him. His friend sighed and mumbled something about his loner psychology before allowing him to work.

 

* * *

 

By Saturday, Isa had already made up his mind.

Salma groaned into her teenage brother’s shoulder as the two leaned against the kitchen counter, which was currently accommodating an open tub of ice cream. 

“He wants to see him again.” She said, voice muffled in the fabric of her brother’s Tupac hoodie. Her own T-shirt was sporting a cute image of a baby Chewbacca. 

“I thought that was a good thing?” Hamza replied in puzzlement.

Salma looked up at him, “You didn’t even like them.” 

“Yeah coz I don’t usually like white people,” her brother responded unperturbed, “but Isa has the advantage of – what’s that thing white people love to say – _not seeing colour_?” He grinned as his sister rolled her eyes at him.

“Anyway, didn’t you say this could be good for him?” He asked, reaching for the spoon. 

“Yeah, and I do think so, just now I have to go and actually talk to this guy.” Salma muttered the last part. 

“Hi Mr Lawyer Guy,” she started in a mock casual voice, “could you please make friends with my seven year old brother? Seeing as you’re both blind I think you’ll really hit it off. Cool, thanks.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Hamza managed, mouth full of their favourite cookies ‘n cream. 

Salma glared back, unimpressed. She took her own spoon and sighed, “Lorena already gave me his number. So…what? Do I just call him?”

Her brother shrugged, and in response she stole the spoon from his hand, which of course invited him to grab it back, and so a playful tussle ensued. 

At mutual calls of “Arrête!” the two ended laughing on the living room carpet. Salma’s bun had long since come apart and her black curls lay in a mass over her shoulders. She was eternally grateful for the Saturdays that her neighbours offered to take the kids out, it gave her the time she needed to re-energize for the week to come. Hamza appeared to be following the same thought process. 

“Remember when it was just us?” He asked quietly, still lying back on the floor as he regained a steady breathing pattern. 

“Yeah,” she said softly, eyes drawn to the 15-year-old family photo set atop the bookshelf. A newborn lay in the arms of 9-year old Salma. She was snuggled in a large winter coat, leaning into the side of a smiling Moroccan man. He had one arm around his daughter and his other was resting on his son’s cheek. In the background, the famous Eiffel Tower stood, almost like a photo-shopped wallpaper. 

“I wish I remembered it,” he said thoughtfully after his eyes followed hers.

“Paris?” 

“The Eiffel Tower.” 

She snorted, “It really isn’t all that impressive you know. Not without the lights anyway.” 

“Still,” he mused, “it’s a piece of home.”

She nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t have remembered any of it of course, but those early years in New York had ensured that the two of them always felt somewhat like outsiders. 

Salma started as her message tone sounded from her pocket. 

Sitting up, she fished it out and commented, “They’ll be back soon.” Tapping the ground in agitation she added, “I should probably call this guy now before the kids show up.” 

“Smart,” Hamza said getting up before he started to retreat to his room, “Good luck with that!” 

“Hey!” She exclaimed imploringly. 

“Relax, it’ll be fine. Just…don’t be awkward.” He grinned wickedly before closing his door and leaving her sat in the middle of her living room, staring at her phone like it had personally insulted her. 

Phone-calls were enough of a strain on her social skills, now she had to call a complete stranger. And what? Invite him for a chat? Did people even say _chat_ anymore? She was overthinking this, and the longer she sat there the less likely she was to go through with it. 

“Bismillah,” she mumbled as she dialled the number Mrs Morales had sent her. 

As she heard an answering click at the other end, her heart did a full-on back flip. 

“Murdock.” Came the acknowledgement.

“Hi. This is Salma, er, we met on Thursday. At Dinner. With Mrs Morales.” Because full sentences are entirely beyond the skills of a high school teacher. 

A pause on the other end, “Yes I remember. Hi, how are you?” He seemed friendly enough. 

“Er yeah, good thanks.” Best to get straight to the point, “Sorry to bother you on a week-end. I was actually um, I was calling about my brother, Isa.” Surely he’d remember which of her brothers that was. “He’s…he’s been asking about you, a lot, actually, and um -”

“I’ve been thinking about him as well,” he interrupted. Salma had not been expecting that. 

“Actually,” he continued, “I have some papers to pass on to Mrs Morales, I just checked with her if I could come by later this evening. If it’s alright I’d like to drop by to talk to you as well.” 

Salma was stunned. She hadn’t been entirely sure where she wanted this conversation to go but it seems she hadn’t been the only one trying to figure that out. 

“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great.” She recovered hurriedly. 

“Wonderful, then I’ll see you this evening.” 

“Mhm, yeah. See you then.” She hung up before her tone could convey any more awkwardness and let herself relax back onto the soft carpet. Her hand rested over her closed eyes as she took the moment to embrace the feeling of having nothing and no one to distract her from just, being. Although, she reflected, that seemed like a painfully ironic way to go about it, given the circumstances.

 

* * *

 

Matt paused in front of the door opposite the Morales’. Despite having worked that morning he had come in a jacket and track pants with the intent to stop by Fogwell’s next. He was also hoping he would come across as less intimidating outside of his office attire. While the children may have been excited to speak to him the other day, their two older siblings had been more than reticent. His blindness often made people uncomfortable, but they had been the same with Foggy so he knew it wasn’t that. 

There was so much sound coming from inside that he took a minute to focus on each source. 

The soft hum of rap music seemed to be coming through earphones, and it was paired with rapid typing. Definitely the teenager. 

Loud crunching was only interrupted by frequent squeals as a little girl – Imane, he remembered – reacted to a cartoon, which was playing surprisingly quietly. He wondered if that was for the benefit of her brother - Isa. Even without super senses he must still be sensitive to loud noises.  _Super senses._  Foggy was getting in his head. 

Declarations of ‘Uno’ made it evident what the little boys were up to. Tilting his head he noted that there were three players. They must have a braille set. 

He paused again to pinpoint the oldest sister, the one who had called. He heard the sound of what seemed to be a pen against paper, but it was different, it didn’t scratch like it usually would. She hummed as she wrote, and only stopped to huff at the strands of hair that had gotten in her way. 

Matt rapped carefully at the door. The reaction inside surprised him, but it seemed, a lot of things did these days. 

The girl dropped her pen, and swiftly pulled her hair back to tie it. 

“Just a sec!” she called out. She seemed to pull at a long piece of fabric that had been draped messily over the sofa and proceeded to wrap it with speed and precision around her face. The little boys had also paused their game, unconsciously holding their breaths in curiosity. 

Matt thought maybe she had forgotten he was coming, seeing as it seemed redundant for her to wear her headscarf for a blind man. But when she opened the door and showed no trace of surprise, he was once again confused. 

“Mr Murdock, hi.” she greeted him, sounding much more confident than she had on the phone. Her scarf shifted slightly against itself as she spoke, especially now it was looser than it had been at dinner. He remembered the metal he had tasted in the air around her, pins that must have held her scarf together. 

“Matt is fine.” He said, holding out his hand. 

“Salma,” she responded as they shook hands. A small acknowledgment that they hadn’t properly spoken the last time they met, though he noted her apparent discomfort at the action. It finally occurred to him that he might be stepping into a cultural context he was entirely unfamiliar with. 

“Please, come in,” she stepped to the side, allowing him to use his cane to lead himself in. 

“The kids are all over the living room right now,” she said, already walking in a different direction. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen?” 

“Sure,” he said when he realised she was speaking so that he could follow the sound of her voice. 

When her teenage brother passed by, a nod was exchanged between the two siblings before the boy left to the living room, where he began what Matt assumed was the task of distracting the children. 

“That was my brother Hamza, he’s just gone to keep the kids busy.” She explained as they entered the kitchen. Matt found himself momentarily astonished. She knew he would have heard her brother pass, but usually people didn’t bother explaining what he couldn’t see unless it directly related to him. 

When he stepped in Salma noisily pulled out the stool nearest the entrance before she busied herself with the coffee maker. 

“Coffee?”

“Black, thanks,” he replied as he took his seat. 

The two were quiet for a few minutes. As he detected her mildly elevated heart rate from nerves, he realised his was the same. 

“You’re only the second person he’s met you know, who’s blind.” She started quietly. “There’s this little girl in a monthly group he goes to, but…even she goes to a school for kids like them.”

Matt hesitated, “To be honest, I don’t exactly have that kind of social circle either. In fact, I think I was as surprised to meet your brother as he was.” 

Salma almost laughed as she handed him his mug, “Yeah I’d gathered.” 

Matt pointedly ignored the slight flush he felt in his face. 

“I have to ask,” he started almost apologetically.

“Sure, anything.” The sincerity in her voice almost distracted him from his question.

“Was he born blind?” Matt couldn’t decide if he hated himself for asking the question, or if he was relieved at the chance to have an honest conversation with someone who understood. And in the five minutes he’d been there it did feel like she understood. After all, she probably dealt with the same ignorance he did. 

“No, but he lost his sight as a baby. He doesn’t have any memories of seeing.” She responded, answering his indirect question. 

“He said he could read in French and English?” The girl’s candor encouraged Matt to indulge his curiosity. At that question he could sense a smirk. 

“Yeah, the doctor said not to try and raise him bilingual, what with it being a hard enough challenge to be blind. Typical.” She muttered the last word under her breath. 

Matt cocked his head questioningly at that. The girl immediately seemed embarrassed, “I just meant, you know being bilingual isn’t such a big deal in most places. Obviously the doctor was -” she stopped herself.

Matt raised his eyebrows expectantly.

She sighed and conceded, “white.” 

He grinned instinctively at the blunt honesty he now associated exclusively with her family. 

“So while we’re being frank,” she continued, relaxing at Matt’s sudden show of ease, “if you’re ok with it, Isa would really like the chance to…talk to you, I guess.” 

Matt opened his mouth to respond but she hurriedly continued, absently thumbing the ends of her sleeves, “I know it’s a lot. I mean, I’m not asking you to be some kind of mentor or anything. It’s just, he really only talks to me, and sometimes…well I don’t always think I have the right answers for him. And in the meets he goes to…well it’s hard for any one kid to get everything they need.” 

“I get it.” He said before she could continue. “I once had someone who…who helped me through it. I can’t imagine if he hadn’t been there. So I’d like to help.” The words seem to fall out of him before he could think twice. But it turned out to be for the best, he could sense the relief wash over her as she finally fixed her gaze on him. He assumed she was making what would have been eye-contact with anyone else, ironic that she had been avoiding it all this time. Although he _was_ still wearing his glasses. It made it easy for people to forget that he wasn’t actually looking at them.

“Have you got any plans for him tomorrow?” He asked on a whim. 

“Not really,” came the reply. “Hamza has soccer practice on Sundays and Isa sometimes goes with him to, well, not watch but…he likes sitting in the park. Actually…you could go with them if you’d like?”

Matt nodded, it was a good idea, and he said as much. 

They finished their coffee over small talk about the kids and their work. Salma was a high school French teacher. She didn’t have much to say on that. Imane hadn’t stopped talking about him and Foggy since that night, he could tell that had bothered Salma when she mentioned it, but he could also hear the deep affection with which she spoke of her siblings. He was intrigued about them, but didn’t probe with too many questions, learning only that they had moved to Hell’s Kitchen almost four years ago, when Imane was just a new-born. He didn’t ask why, sensing that it was a delicate topic. It seemed obvious that it was related to their parents being out of the picture, and he knew better than most not to ask about someone’s absent parents. 

Upon leaving they agreed he might as well just meet the boys at the park, and then he remembered to get Hamza’s number. She keyed it into his phone for him, handing it back at the doorway. 

“Thanks again Mr Mur-” 

“Matt,” he interrupted her with a friendly smile. 

“Matt.” She corrected herself. 

“Good night – “ he started and paused abruptly. 

She raised her eyebrows at him and waited. 

“Salma.” He finished. He couldn’t say it with the accent her siblings had. He didn’t want to be offensive. 

She huffed a laugh as if she could hear his thoughts. “Good night Matt.” 

And with that, Matt left with the distinct feeling that he was going to wake up the next day to an unfamiliar bout of anxiety, and all to meet a little boy in a park.

 

* * *

 

Isa was running his hands over a flower petal. It was damp and cool, comforting to his fingers. 

“And you like school?” The man beside him asked.

They were sat on the grass, far enough away from the soccer game that they didn’t risk getting hit. 

Isa rested his hands back over his crossed legs. His jeans were soft, well-worn over the years. Hand-me-downs from Hamza. 

“I like…learning.” The low trill of a ground-dove sounded from above him, to his right.

“But not at school?” The man asked again. He sounded concerned. His hand was fiddling with something, probably his cane. It could fold, unlike Isa’s. But Isa’s was smaller anyway. 

“My teacher…says things. About me. He doesn’t think I belong there. He says there’s no point. That I could never become anything anyway.” He could tell the man because he would understand. 

The man said nothing. He wasn’t silent. His nails scratched against his cane, and there was what could only have been soil running through his other hand. He must have grabbed some from the ground. He was breathing through his nose like it was forced. 

A cheer rang through the air and Isa strained his ears to sift through the many voices. Hamza’s was one of them. It was only a practice game but still, Isa smiled. His team scored. 

“He’s really good you know. He’ll play for France one day. When we go back.” 

The man stopped moving, but the low breeze was making his jacket zipper quietly ring against the metal of his belt.

“Go back? You used to live there?” 

“Not me,” Isa shook his head. “Them.” It had rained that morning, the air still smelt like honey. All the best breakfasts have honey. 

“Salma and Papa. Hamza too, but he was a baby when they came.” The next cheers didn’t have his brother’s voice. 

“They were here a long time before Papa married my mum. She was Moroccan too, but…from Morocco, not France.” There was a loose thread in his jeans, he should remember to tell Salma. 

“Still, I’d like to go. I like it here but…Salma misses it. She doesn’t say it but I know.” He plucked a dry leaf from his hair just as it settled over his ear. It was so brittle. One snap and it would be in pieces. He gently laid it on the grass in front of him.

Beside him, the man exhaled slowly. 

“Does your sister know about your teacher?” There was more he wasn’t saying. Everything about his tone was controlled, _restrained_. He had just learned that word. 

“She already worries.” Isa answered. “I’ve changed school before.”

A sudden stronger breeze brought the man’s scent of aftershave closer to Isa’s attention. Papa used to smell like that after a shower, before he put on any attar. 

The man shifted suddenly, he was turning. Probably facing Isa now. Isa stayed still. There was a caterpillar on his shoe. He didn’t want to disturb it. 

“She’s really good to you isn’t she?” He said quietly. Hamza said sometimes people say things like it’s a question but it isn’t really. 

Isa beamed. “Salma’s perfect.” He had the overwhelming urge to tell this man everything, to tell the whole world about his big sister. The man was nice, he would listen. 

“She tells the best stories. It’s the only time I really feel like I don’t need to see, she makes it so real, like I’m there. She didn’t have much time though, when Imane was a baby…the twins were small too and there was no one to help her.” He frowned, then shook his head as his hair fell back more neatly around head. 

“She lets me help though. With anything, she doesn’t mind. I like it best in the kitchen, she says I’m the best taster there is.” Isa grinned. 

“She uses lots of different herbs you know, when she cooks. But it’s funny, no matter what, Salma always smells of cinnamon. She puts it on everything.” He laughed, his hand returning to the loose thread on his jeans. The man was still listening, his hands weren’t distracted anymore. 

“She must be beautiful.” Isa said after pause, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Papa said the kindest people always are.” 

The man was still quiet. He picked up his cane again. 

“What about your family?” Isa asked, turning his head to face his new friend. 

“I…” The man’s voice trailed off, nails sliding against his cane. “It’s just me. Has been for a long time.” He finished quietly. 

Isa tilted his head, thinking. Then he reached his hand out cautiously, to where he heard the scratching. His hand rested over the man’s and he asked hopefully, “Are we friends now?” 

After a moment, another hand came to rest on his. 

“I think we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Arrête (French) = stop (it)  
> Bismillah (Arabic) = In the Name of God. Just something you say before you do something (literally anything).  
> Attar = A perfume in Arab countries and South Asia, it's alcohol free and comes from natural oils. It's pretty distinctive from normal perfumes.


	3. “Stay safe out there”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this chapter deals with racism and the violence/language that comes with it.  
> Also I kept Daredevil’s black outfit because I really don’t like the red one. It kills the zorro vibe.

The man at the counter was in a foul mood tonight, Salma stood in the short queue with unease. He bagged an elderly gentleman’s groceries with a force that seemed unwise considering the fragility of the contents. The older man clearly took offence at that, and gave him a look of such disdain that the cashier at least met him with a semi-apologetic shrug.

By the time Salma got there with her 3 loaves of bread and litre of milk, he had taken to swearing at the cash register in Spanish for every second it took to respond to him. She cautiously put down her basket and took out her wallet without risking eye contact. 

“It’s not safe you know.” 

Her head snapped up as the gruff voice went on. 

“Young woman out at this time.” Bagging the bread as he spoke. 

Salma’s fingers curled around her wallet in apprehension, her left hand resting over the ring on her right index finger. He didn’t exactly have a friendly tone.

When he finally looked up to take the cash his eyes softened at her obvious discomfort. 

“I’m not tryna scare you, just being real with you.” He took the cash and started punching numbers. “Couple o’ my nieces got caught on a night out. Nothin’ I wanna see happen to good folk.” He looked up again. 

Her shoulders relaxed at the explanation. “I’m not too far away,” wanting to assure him. “Kids at home aren’t gonna feed themselves.” She shrugged with a smile. 

“Yeah I hear you,” he nodded understandingly. 

“Still, folk like you and me gotta be extra careful,” At that, Salma felt oddly comforted. Brown people pretty much shared the same struggles, and it was nice to be reminded that she was never alone in that. 

“Things have been going backwards lately and some nut-jobs are ready to jump on any crazy bandwagon you send their way. This city’s got actual aliens runnin round but still we gotta keep our head down for the paranoid ones.” 

She nodded slowly, sad eyes reflecting in her own. It was strange that she’d been in here so many times before and never exchanged more than a polite thanks with this man. That was the cost of living in the city, so many people and so few friends. You learn to walk through life without a second thought for the people you pass. 

“Stay safe out there.”

“Thank you,” her eyes crinkled in gratitude as she left the small store. His concern was sweet, and she appreciated it. She made a mental note to come by more often – in the daytime of course. Because he was right. She was never usually stupid enough to be out alone at this time of the night. But emergencies are labelled as such for a reason; by definition they’re not an every day occurrence. And a lack of food? In a house of 4 young kids _and_ a growing teenage boy? If that wasn’t an emergency, what was? She would have gotten Hamza to go with her if her neighbours had been around to babysit for a half hour, but the Morales’ were out on a date-night. It was cute, that they still made time for those things at their age. Although, they really weren’t that old come to think of it. Their two sons were barely just younger than her. 

In the middle of trying to calculate the exact ages of Lorena and her husband (based on the college stories she’d heard of when they had met – what year had Alien come out?) she became distinctly aware of a group of boys in hoodies who had just crossed to her side of the street. They stayed behind her and their pace seemed to match hers, but maybe that was just paranoia. Regardless, she quickened her steps and intended to cross the street for the remainder of her walk – so that she’d at least be on the better-lit side - when she walked straight into a man as he emerged from a side alleyway. 

Involuntarily Salma dropped her groceries and held up her hand in an apology when the man in question grabbed her wrists firmly and revealed a cruel grin, “Well well well, what’s this boys? A terrorist on our very own streets?” 

She froze. 

A pair of steel-grey eyes were glaring into hers, keeping her rooted to the spot. Her lips were only slightly parted in the shock of the moment, but they didn’t move further to scream. She had never had that instinct. 

From behind a body pushed her forward and she felt something thin pressed against the light layer of cloth around her neck. It occurred to her that if it weren’t for the scarf, she’d probably feel the coolness of the metal. The image of a knife slicing through her throat flashed in her mind as she wondered who would be the first to find her. She hoped it wouldn’t be a child. That would scar anyone for life. 

“That’s right,” came the voice in her ear. “They don’t let their women say nothin do they. All quiet and _obedient_.” 

The words washed over her like the low hum of a gas stove. _Terrorist_. But it wasn’t the man’s voice in her head. It was the kids in the playground, jeering at her as she watched through an over-grown fringe. They had made it a chant, so everyone could join in, and they did, everyone did. 

“Looks like you’re right T,” the man leered over her. “Why don’t we test that?” His hands were still gripping her wrists painfully, eyes probing her body like she was prey. 

_Ter-ror-ist. Ter-ror-ist._  

They would be cheering now too. 

“Let’s see if she’s worth it,” a voice came from behind. The blade was still pressed against her throat, she couldn’t swallow without it shifting with her. This was it. There was only one thing left for her to do. 

The words came so softly under her breath that the men either couldn’t hear her or chose to ignore it as the ramblings of a petrified woman. 

“Yeah, let’s see what’s under the scarf.” A boy sniggered. _Boy._ He couldn’t have been much older than Hamza. 

_Hamza_. Her younger brother was waiting for her at home, with four hungry children, all counting on her, and not just for tonight. 

The man reached over to the end of the fabric hanging by her ear. In his sick enthusiasm, he had let go of one of her wrists. Lucky for her, it was her ring hand. She immediately clenched her fist and swiftly dragged it across the man’s face as she ducked away from the still sniggering knife-wielder. Tiny steel spikes had an ugly meeting with the length of the man’s cheek and his eyes widened in horror and pain. Finally, instinct kicked in. She sprinted down the street with adrenaline pumping through her like the worst kind of coffee-rush. 

The escape didn’t last long. She was practically leapt on from behind and found herself flattened against the cold dirty gravel of Hell’s Kitchen. The man – boy this time – who caught her proceeded to shove her over to her front, so she was looking directly into the hateful eyes of – wait, was that – 

A huge black boot sent the boy flying across the pavement. Salma automatically shielded her face with her arms, only to hear another series of thuds coming from further down the street. She sat up and gasped at the scene before her. 

It was really him. Dressed all in black, taking down the group like they were a string of punching bags blocking his way. She took a deep breath and sent a silent thanks to God. 

He had no weapons, she noted with renewed panic. They all had knives and he was using… _sticks_? Not that it seemed to matter, the vigilante landed hit after hit without receiving a single blow. It was like a scene from those old Chinese movies her dad used to love, _real_ martial arts, and none of that – what was it he used to say? Silly Hollywood camera tricks. No, this was definitely real. Even though her rescuer seemed to be doing fine, Salma found herself mentally pleading with God to keep him safe. 

It was only when she registered the figure in black walking towards her that she realised she’d been sitting frozen for the whole thing. With a quick glance over the scene ahead, she noted that each of her attackers were lying unmoving on the ground. Unconscious probably, everyone knew that was Daredevil’s MO.

“Are you ok?” The voice was low, rough even, but conveyed genuine concern.

She looked up with a start, and noticed that the lower half of his face held a frown. Suddenly intent on reassuring him, she opened her mouth to respond, only to find that no sound came out.

*

Matt knelt in front of Salma as she blinked in surprise at her own silence. He didn’t say anything; she was already taking deep breaths as she consciously worked to compose herself. Her heart rate had been confusing to follow. Until just before she ran he hadn’t detected a single trace of panic from her. Fright maybe, but no hysteria. There had been a stillness to her that was more indicative of resignation than alarm. But during the fight her pulse would elevate at random intervals, only to be brought back to something closer to normal while her lips moved to form words he couldn’t quite make out. 

“Ye-yes. Thank you.” Her voice was shaky, but she spoke with resolve. Isa was right, Matt thought absently, she smelt of cinnamon, and…something else, earthy, or like expensive wood.

He held out his hand to help her up but she didn’t seem to notice, pushing herself up without glancing at him. He followed suit. 

In a swift evaluation he noted no major physical injuries. Her wrists seemed just lightly bruised, and the only blood on her wasn’t hers, it was spread across her right hand. A small smile played on his lips as he put two and two together. 

“That’s smart. The ring.” He nodded to it. 

Her left hand immediately went to cover her bloody knuckle before relaxing as she slowly exhaled. 

“A precaution,” she said softly. 

She didn’t say anything else. Just stood in silence. He found himself not wanting to interrupt her. Whatever she was doing, or thinking, it was helping her recover. 

“I didn’t scream.” She said suddenly, turning to properly face him. Her tone was questioning. “They say you come when you hear someone scream.”

Matt frowned at that. She had a point. He had almost passed the street without a second thought before unexpectedly tuning in to the whispers of some of the boys hanging in the back of the group. Their colourful language had given him a good enough idea of what they were up to, and he had the sense to check in. 

“That’s not the only way to know someone’s in trouble.” He stated simply, before adding, “But it certainly would have helped.” 

Salma said nothing. It didn’t seem like the right time to push the point. Anyway, there was a more pressing issue. 

“That kid,” he gestured to the closest knocked out body, “you recognised him?” 

Her brows furrowed for only a moment – Matt realised too late that she might question how he knew that, but she didn’t. Instead she sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. 

“He’s a sophomore. One of mine.” She shook her head despondently. “He’s failing French.” 

Matt’s fists clenched as his lips set in a hard line. He could tell the boy was young but to hear it confirmed was disheartening. 

“The police will handle them soon.” He said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. 

“Oh,” her heart rate spiked unexpectedly at that. “I’ll have to talk to them won’t I?” 

Matt paused, hate crimes needed a victim or there’d be no charges. He nodded before replying, “But it can wait. You should head home. You won’t have any more trouble on the way.” 

Her relief would have been palpable to anyone. 

“They’ll have to keep them overnight. Tomorrow, ask for Sergeant Brett Mahoney. He can help you.” 

Her expression changed again, a question clearly on the tip of her tongue, but she seemed to dismiss it. 

“Ok. Thank you. Really.” She hesitated, and he waited, sensing she had something to get out. “I know you do this all the time but, I hope you know…how much it means. To all of us.” 

Matt tilted his head, hoping that was acknowledgement enough. It seemed to be since she turned and started walking away, hands pushed into her coat pockets as she started the deep breaths again. 

“Wait,” he blurted, only just remembering. Swiftly he made his way past the still-unconscious bodies, and picked up the almost-forgotten bag of groceries. He wouldn’t want Imane and her brothers to go hungry that night just because of a few racist scumbags. 

As he returned the bag to Salma, she stood still, looking up at him with a thoughtfulness that made him uneasy. 

When she opened her mouth, Matt was expecting another thank you, but instead she caught him off guard. 

“It’s not right.” She said quietly. 

He stiffened, had he done something wrong? 

“They really shouldn’t call you the Devil.” She finished. 

Matt swallowed thickly. Her gaze falling so intently on him, he felt his pulse quicken under it. 

And as she walked away Matt was left to analyse his own reaction. Though sometimes it was best to just leave the introspection for another day.

 

* * *

 

It had been two days since the street incident. Salma was staring at the one empty desk in the room as her sophomore class completed their end-of-unit test. 

Sergeant Mahoney had been kind. He had apologised for the amount of paperwork and assured her that this would be treated as a hate crime. When she had mentioned Daredevil he had seemed unsurprised, signing off on the report with an encouraging smile. She loathed it, the attention, but she knew it wasn’t right to let these things go. Not if she wanted something better for her young siblings.

The blue-green smudges on her wrists were safely hidden by the light cotton of her cardigan, but she absently tugged at her sleeves anyway. The empty desk burned in her vision like a threat looming over her. She didn’t know how much time the boy would get in juvy. She knew it was selfish but she hoped she wouldn’t have to see him in her classes again. Not any time soon anyway. He was just a kid though. A stupid kid, but a kid nonetheless. 

The bell rang, followed by the clicking of pens and ruffling of papers. The students left their tests at her desk, some with a grimace, some biting their lips, some with casual confidence, and others with total indifference. She responded to each murmured “Au revoir” and found herself comforted by the smile of the last boy who handed her his paper. 

“A bientôt Mam’zelle,” the Haitian boy, Emmanuel, had always been especially comfortable in her class. He was still struggling with English and it struck a chord with her, having come to America with very little knowledge of the language herself. Not everyone was as sympathetic. 

She couldn’t fathom it, how so many people struggled to see the beauty in diversity. Her favourite part of the year was always the start, seeing how increasingly multicultural every successive set of freshmen were. It was something to warm her heart in this dark city. A city she never thought of as home. But it was to the others. To Isa, to Rayan and Riyad, and to Imane. This was all they knew. Even Hamza, who held on to the idea of the country he was born into. He couldn’t remember that things hadn’t been easy there either. 

But it was her responsibility to make sure they had a real chance here. In Hell’s Kitchen of all places. It was Isa she worried about the most, but maybe that was changing too? This lawyer, Matt, he was already having an impact. Isa had come back on Sunday with a light in his eyes that had almost brought her to tears. She wasn’t even sure why. As if he’d known, Matt hadn’t said much to her then, he hadn’t even come inside. She was grateful to him. He was a stranger in their lives, and that was daunting, but she was grateful.

 

* * *

 

Matt twirled his cane in his hand as he sat waiting in the reception office. His conversation with the little boy, Isa, still playing on repeat in his head.

_“He doesn’t think I belong there. He says there’s no point.”_  

His fists clenched around his cane, nails scraping his own skin. It hadn’t been too hard to find out the details of Isa’s school, and which class he was in. Though growing up in the orphanage had been hard, the nuns hadn’t openly disdained Matt for his differences; a simple show of humanity that ought also to be extended to this young boy. Matt would make sure of it.

“Mr Murdock,” the young receptionist began from her desk. “Mr Palmer’s class has just left. He’s been told to expect you. It’s the second door on your right in the hall. Shall I – “ She rose. 

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” He replied graciously, getting to his feet. He noted the faint trace of disappointment behind him as he exited the office. 

Making his way, he followed the slow tick of his cane till he finally reached his destination. He paused outside the door, inside he could detect the short breath of a smoker, and the scent of tobacco mixed with cheap hair gel. He knocked once. 

“Come in.”

As he entered, Matt immediately registered the change in breathing, and felt the man’s gaze directed at the white cane in his hand. 

“Mr Palmer,” he began, relishing the upper hand in the conversation. “My name is Matthew Murdock, I was hoping I could have a word.” 

“Of course! Please, um…” he gestured vaguely at a chair by his desk, before thinking better of it and standing to roll his own chair over to Matt’s side. 

Matt felt for it carefully before taking a seat as the teacher pulled out a chair for himself.

“What can I do for you?” Mr Palmer asked with faux-confidence. 

Matt didn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence to further fray the man’s nerves. 

“You’re um…you’re not a parent are you? I think I’d remember…” he trailed off with an uncomfortable laugh. 

Matt put on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Not that anyone could see it. He pulled out his business card from his jacket pocket and set it on the desk in front of Palmer. 

“No, I’m not a parent. I’m a lawyer.” 

Palmer picked up the card cautiously and responded, “I see. That doesn’t explain why you’re here Mr Murdock.” He seemed to regain some of his poise. 

“Mr Palmer, are you familiar with the civil rights laws under the U.S. Department of Education?” 

The teacher’s pulse leapt at that. 

“Of course,” he scoffed in forced nonchalance, “I _am_ a teacher.”

“Of course,” Matt agreed. “But perhaps a refresher course is due.” His voice turned cold. 

Beads of sweat began to form on Palmer’s forehead. 

“I’m not sure I -” 

“The American with Disabilities Act of 1990 ensures that all students, regardless of any learning impairments, are treated the same.” Matt interrupted. “As you can imagine, I’m personally very aware of the details of this particular law, but of course, you must be too.” 

“Of course!” Palmer exclaimed defensively. 

“And with the similar laws regarding discrimination based on race, color or national origin.” Matt tilted his head. The resounding spike in Palmer’s heartbeat settled that question. Matt’s mind flashed to the ugly words he’d heard just two nights ago. 

“Of-of course.” 

“Well that’s certainly a relief. It would be worrying if the educators entrusted with our community’s most vulnerable had trouble implementing such a… _simple_ code of ethics. Don’t you think Mr Palmer?” 

“Certainly.” He replied, body frozen as the sweat pooled in his collar. 

“And I’m sure you also understand that concerned citizens such as myself, would do everything in their power to respond to – shall we say, _mishaps_ within the school environment.” Matt leaned forward in his chair. “Because you can be sure Mr Palmer, that any such moments – and I mean _moments_ – _will_ find their way back to me. And it would be my moral and legal obligation to act in any way I deem necessary.” 

Palmer was tight-lipped, unmoving as he stared at Matt in panic. 

“I’m so glad we had this talk.” Smiled Matt as he stood. “I’ll see myself out.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s seeing him again tomorrow.” Salma was sitting at the Morales’ kitchen counter, absently flicking through an old cooking book Lorena had lent her. Her scarf was folded carefully on the counter as she had let her thick braid fall loosely over her shoulder. The boys and Imane were out with Mr Morales, they had begged her to come and as much fun as it sounded, she knew how valuable the time apart was for her in the long-term.

“That’s wonderful! I’m so glad it’s working out. That Señor Murdock really does seem to be a proper gentleman.” Lorena beamed as she poured coffee into two mugs. 

“Yeah I suppose,” Salma mulled over their first real conversation and recalled his hesitancy to speak about his background. “Do you know much about him?” 

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” Lorena’s eyes practically twinkled. “I know you’re not one for gossip so I didn’t want to bring it up. But I’ve been asking around about him. Seems he’s more well-known than I realised.” 

“Oh?” It was true, Salma hated idle chatter about strangers. But Murdock – Matt – was becoming important to her little brother. She ought to know more about him. 

Before Lorena could elaborate – which she looked all too keen to do, Salma’s phone rang softly in her pocket. It was one of her favourite raï songs, and it meant that Hamza was calling. Lorena waved off her apology as she picked it up. 

“Allô?” 

“Salut!” The voice was much higher pitched than she had expected. 

“Imane? What’s up?” 

“Can we get ice cream?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

“Pleease.” 

“What day do we get ice cream?” 

“Friday.” Came the gloomy reply. 

“Exactly, now put Hamza on the phone please.” 

Salma rolled her eyes at Lorena’s smirk. The older woman was always entertained by her parenting skills, though she did take every opportunity to also express how impressed she was. 

“Yeah,” Her brother answered sounding vaguely guilty.

“Nice try. They better be home in one piece and anyone with a sugar rush can spend the remainder of the day doing chores.” 

“Ok ok, no ice cream.” He was grinning, she could hear it, and it made her roll her eyes again. 

“Just text me when you’re close. _And be good_.”

As she hung up she couldn’t hide the smirk on her own face. It was fun talking to Hamza like he was a little kid again, and fortunately they had enough mutual respect that he never actually got offended. She turned back to Lorena who was passing her the short jar of sugar. 

Helping herself she asked, “So you were saying? Details on your fancy new lawyer?” 

Lorena smiled mischievously at her before her expression turned semi-serious. 

“He lost his sight at nine years old. Chemical accident on the road. They say he was a hero that day. He saved an old man from getting hit by a truck.” 

Salma made a soft sound of admiration. 

“Not long after, his father died. The poor boy grew up in an orphanage. Somehow made it to Columbia Law School. He’s got quite the story.” Lorena raised her eyebrows as she lifted her mug. 

“I’ll say.” Salma didn’t really know what to make of it. She lost her mother at the same age, but she had always had someone. Her father, Hamza. Then the children. 

“And now he’s made a real name for himself as a lawyer you know. We didn’t realise, when Mrs Bets from across the road told us about Nelson & Murdock, we’d already been hearing about them as lawyers that actually cared about people like us. But we didn’t know it was them that took down Fisk.” 

Salma took a sharp intake of breath. There was a name she’d heard. The exposed criminal king-pin of Hell’s Kitchen. She looked blankly down at her coffee. So, champion of the people Matt Murdock. Not a bad role model for her brother then. 

“Besides that,” she started. “Besides what you’ve heard, what do you…what do you think of him? When you talk to him?” 

Lorena set her mug down thoughtfully. “He’s charming. Mind you that’s not always a good thing with men,” she wagged a finger at Salma knowingly. “And I’ve certainly heard a lot of flattering comments about him by young women…” 

Salma sighed, “Lorena.” 

“Yes yes.” She waved her off. “I do think he’s one of the good ones. He may seem a bit mysterious but, he also seems…kind. And mija that’s really all you can go on.” 

Salma nodded, almost reluctantly. Her own assessment wasn’t much different. There was something controlled about Matt Murdock that made him difficult to read, but it was relatable. A lifetime of loss can do that to a person. She knew it didn’t have to signify anything negative, but it did raise questions. Though there had been a moment in their conversation when he had seemed…honest. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but for Isa’s sake, she had to start somewhere. 

She stroked her braid, lost in thought as she wandered back to the last stranger she had encountered. She was sure the man in black had followed her home that night. He had said she wouldn’t have any trouble getting back, and the only way to know that for sure was to actually be there. That, and she had had the distinct feeling of being watched the whole time. She wondered why she hadn’t been more intimidated by it, but in truth, she found nothing about him to be afraid of. He looked out for people like her. 

“Where are you mija?” Lorena smiled teasingly across from her. 

Salma laughed, “Sorry. Just thinking.” At the raised eyebrow she laughed again. “It’s nothing, really.” 

“Anyway, I should be getting some work done before they get back.” She said reaching over for her scarf. “Thanks for the talk.” 

“Anytime,” Lorena patted her hair motherly as they rose from the counter. 

The ping of her message tone interrupted her on her way out. She furrowed her brows. It was too early for them to be on the way back. She opened the message without first registering it was from an unknown number. 

“ _We’re coming for you terrorist bitch.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> A bientôt (French) = see you later  
> Mam’zelle (French) = shortened version of Mademoiselle. Equivalent of Miss.  
> Raï = A music genre, traditionally Algerian but also big in France.  
> Allô (French) = Hello, specifically on the phone  
> Salut (French) = Hello/Hi
> 
> I know the kids weren't in this much but they will be in the next chapter!


	4. Little Black Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably just keep this on all my remaining chapters:  
> Warning that this chapter deals with racism and the violence that comes with it.

So it hadn’t been a one-off thing. That was just great. 

Salma hadn’t been sure how seriously to take the text from last week, so she had done what anyone would do and asked Google. Everything she had read was about how meaningless social media threats were. But this hadn’t been social media. This was her actual phone number. And it just happened again. 

Obviously she had blocked the last number. And the radio silence had reassured her after two days. She did her prayers, locked the doors, the windows, left the house with a spiky steel ring and pepper spray, and got way stricter with her own curfew. But the truth was, if someone really wanted to get to her, there was nothing much stopping them. Just like the other night. 

 _Get out of our country while you can._  

The little black words glared up at her as her body sighed back into her teacher’s chair. Oh if only she could. _No_ , she mentally reprimanded herself for that. This may not be her country, but it _was_ for the children. She couldn’t keep thinking like this. 

So what now? Go to the police? She knew how that would go. If Daredevil hadn’t actually caught those men red-handed with their knives the other day then the police wouldn’t have bothered with charges. Hate crimes were just…not crimes. Not really. Not in America anyway. And what could the police do even if they wanted to help? Trace the number? Surely it would be a burner, right? Everyone watches enough TV to know how to be a half-decent criminal. 

After blocking the new number she found herself flicking through her contacts, unconsciously waiting for a name to pop out at her, someone, _anyone_ that she could talk to. But the first name that stopped her wasn’t exactly what she had been looking for. 

 _Matthew Murdock._  

Lawyer, defence attorney, _champion of the people_ – she recalled her own thoughts with amusement. 

He had spent another two Sundays with Isa, and from what she could tell, the two had bonded exceedingly well. The last time he had stayed after for coffee, understanding that Salma wanted at least an idea of what the two got up to in their park hangouts.

“Mostly he talks about you,” Matt had admitted, seeming almost embarrassed. “And the others, your family I mean.” 

Salma didn’t really want to know what exactly her seven year old brother shared about her to this still-basically-a-stranger. 

“But he’s started telling me about his experiences. Being blind. How he…sees. It’s strange, hearing it from someone else. But I think it helps. Both of us actually.” 

What had been strange was hearing this man she hardly knew talk about her little brother in a way no one outside her family ever had. Like he wasn’t just ‘the blind boy’. Like he was a kid with his own voice and personality. Matt had even chuckled at how much Isa hated being around cats and dogs because their fur would get everywhere and always somehow end up in his nose. He didn’t have to walk on eggshells around Isa. It was like a burden she didn’t even know she had was lifted from her shoulders. 

Folding her arms tightly on her desk she buried her head in the soft cotton crumpled at the crook of her elbow. _Allah_ , she whispered into a pocket of air, _whatever happens to me, please just keep the children safe._ She knew He would, but it helped to ask anyway. 

Feeling more at ease, she lifted her head to rest her chin on her arm, thinking back to how close they had been to losing her not two weeks ago. Catching sight of her phone again she realised Matt’s name was still written across it. She stared at it for a second longer before clicking the screen shut. No, he wasn’t what she was looking for. Technically he was the exact opposite.

 

* * *

  

“Oy, Murdock, I’ve got Thai food and dim sum so you better be conscious in there coz this cost money.” 

Foggy heard a hoarse, “Get in Foggy,” and let himself in with a huff of annoyance. Just because he had a key didn’t mean that Matt had to sit on his lazy ass and not get the door for him. He brought take-out for Gods sake. 

At the sight of the living room he stopped in his tracks and let out a, “Holy shit Matt.” 

The lights had already been on, which could only ever mean that Matt had visitors and the lucky lady was usually a very judgmental nurse. So maybe tonight wouldn’t be as much fun as he had hoped. 

“It’s worse than it looks,” Matt smiled weakly at him. Blood probably staining his couch cushions as they spoke. The open wound on his left side overshadowed the already sewn up red slash across his neck. The rest of his torso bore old scars that made Foggy want to wring his friend in concerned outrage. But seeing as the tough love hadn’t worked out so well for them the last time, he chose to swallow his lecture. 

“Like hell it is,” a woman’s voice reacted from behind the kitchen counter. “The amount of times I have to give you stitches _on my off-night_ is, frankly, very inconsiderate of you. Hi Foggy.” 

“Hi Claire.” Foggy waved before dropping the containers of food on the low table. If he couldn’t get away with being the parent-friend then at least she could. 

He heaved a sigh as he placed himself on the opposite sofa. “So, what was it this time? Muggers, murderers, gang violence? Please don’t say ninjas. It was exciting for a whole millisecond before it actually got scary.” 

“Racists.” Matt answered grimly. 

Even Claire looked up from her kit. 

“A Hispanic Church. The Priest was leaving late, got cornered by seven guys.” 

“How do you know it was race-related? Basically everyone in Manhattan has been mugged at some point.” Foggy asked as he helped himself to a container. 

Claire spared him a look of both disdain and pity before focussing her attention on Matt’s open wound. 

“Wha?” Foggy managed through chewing dumpling. 

Matt took a breath before answering. “He was tied up. They all had knives. Ready to throw at him like a dartboard. Only everyone wanted to get the first shot so they agreed to go together.” 

Foggy stopped chewing. Claire on the other hand was clearly fighting to concentrate as she knotted the thread on the first stitch. 

“So they stood in a row in front of him, and decided to go on three.” Matt continued, only a clenched fist betraying his dispassionate tone. “They counted in Spanish so he’d feel more at home. ‘ _Like he was back in_ _Mexico where he belonged_ ’.” Matt finally quoted with a scowl. “The Priest was Cuban.” 

He released a sudden hiss of pain and Claire immediately apologised for the harsh needlework. 

“Damn,” Foggy breathed. “So er, what, they got you instead?” 

Matt’s grimace answered that. 

“Things have been getting worse.” Claire started through gritted teeth as she concentrated harder on the last few stitches. “All this Neo-Nazi shit has finally made it’s way to New York. Streets are even less safe than they used to be for us.”

Matt nodded, as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised. Why wasn’t he surprised? Wasn’t this American’s melting pot? Hell they’ve even had aliens. 

“Am I missing something?” Foggy started nervously. 

The two on the opposite couch looked up at him – well, Matt looked near him. Either way they were both pretty focused on – him. 

Claire sighed. “Must be nice.” She left the rest unsaid and started packing away her kit with a disapproving shake of the head. 

“Woah hey how am I the only one here who gets called out on being the ignorant white guy? What about Matt?” Foggy was flailing here. “How is he so in the know-how about this stuff? Wait ok no…that makes sense.” He had tried and he had failed. He was too white, point taken. 

Claire rolled her eyes at him as she picked up her bag to leave, casting another disapproving glance at the take-out gracing the living room table. 

Matt seemed impassive at their exchange. “I only started noticing a couple weeks ago. The street violence of late has followed a pattern. Most of them are by…groups. I wouldn’t even call them gangs. Half of them are usually high-schoolers. A bunch of guys getting together specifically to prey on minorities. It’s happened too many times and too quickly now to be random hate-crimes.” 

“You think it’s organised?” Claire turned her attention back to them. 

Matt hesitated. “I’m not sure. But it’s time I found out.” 

Foggy put his dim sum down, suddenly feeling vaguely guilty about eating Chinese food. That didn’t even make sense.

“Salma was attacked.” He heard Matt say quietly. 

“The kid’s sister?” Foggy asked taken aback. Matt had finally started talking about his hang-outs with the boy, just about anyway. It had taken the combined effort of him and Karen to get him to admit that it was at least going well. He was glad for him, for Matt. To have someone to look out for. 

Matt nodded, his expression darker than Foggy was comfortable with. 

“Salma like the actress?” Claire cut in. 

“Salma like the older sister of Matt’s new best friend. After me of course.” Foggy stated the last part reassuringly. “His name is Isa, he’s seven, he likes caterpillars, hates furry animals, oh and also he’s blind.” Foggy waited to see Matt roll his eyes in anticipation of what he was about to say before adding, “And that is the grand total of what I know about the kid because that is all _my best friend_ Matt deigns to tell me." 

“I just told you that his sister was _attacked_ and you’re taking the opportunity to be personally offended?” Matt asked disparagingly, pulling his shirt back on and grimacing at the pain the movement caused. 

“Well is she ok?” That was Claire. The nurse with the decency to ask the question he hadn’t first thought of. 

“She’s fine.” Matt shook his head dismissively. As if he hadn’t been the one to bring it up. He leaned back in the couch and glared at nothing in particular.

When Matt didn’t elaborate, Foggy and Claire exchanged a look of confused concern. At least she wasn’t judging him anymore.

“Well I should get going.” Claire started carefully. “And listen, I can start keeping you posted on the people coming through the ER. If it helps.”

“It would.” Matt nodded in thanks. 

Meanwhile, Foggy had decided it wasn’t racist to eat Asian food.

 

* * *

  

The Mosque was always busy on Friday afternoons, parents brought their kids from all over Manhattan for lessons and youth groups. Salma was sat kneeling on the green carpeted floor, her eyes absently tracing the curving yellow design that set apart the prayer rows. 

“On a fini!” Came Rayan’s voice as she felt the thud of a small body behind her. Imane squeezed her neck as she rested her head of curls on Salma’s back. 

“Careful!” Salma said laughing as she turned around to set the child on her lap. The twins settled beside her, panting slightly from having run to their big sister. 

“So? Tell me what you learnt today.” There was a fuzzy line between big sister and teacher mode with her. 

Imane was the first to respond, puffing out her chest as she declared, “I know up to ‘tha’.” 

“Already?” Salma widened her eyes dramatically. Four letters was good progress for the three (and a half) year old. 

“I learnt up to ‘kaf’,” Rayan announced. 

“Then you’ll be done with all the letters soon won’t you?” 

He beamed, “Then I can read like Riyad does. He practiced his surahs today.” He always sounded like a proud parent when he spoke about his much quieter counterpart. Riyad was smiling shyly and when he caught Salma’s eye he snuggled his head down on her lap. 

Stroking his head fondly she said, “Then I guess it’s time for Friday ice cream. Shall we find the boys?” 

Hamza and Isa would be downstairs in the men’s prayer area. They all met outside, and as Salma tugged her boots back on she asked Isa how his lessons had gone. 

“The Sheikh thinks I might have the whole last section memorised in another month. Insha’Allah.” 

“That’s wonderful!” 

He nodded, frowning slightly. 

“Isa.” She started knowingly, taking his hand as Hamza led the rest of them. 

He hesitated, “The Sheikh was saying…” 

“Yes?” 

“He was telling me about braille. In Arabic.” 

“Oh,” was all she could manage in the moment. In truth, she felt slightly winded. _Arabic braille_. How is it she had never thought to look into this? Her little brother was learning verses by hearing them while the rest of the children his age could open the Quran and read any verse they liked. 

“I didn’t even know -” 

“I know,” he interrupted her immediately. Probably well aware of how guilty she was feeling, which explained his hesitation to bring it up. 

“And it’s not that important that I read, really. I don’t need it to memorise, I just thought -” 

“No of course, I’ll look into I promise.” 

He hesitated again, “The Sheikh…he said he could get me some books, if it’s ok.” His palm was getting damp. Salma couldn’t figure out why he was being so nervous about all this. 

“That’s great! Of course it’s ok.” She was getting more confused by the second. She called out to Hamza for them to keep going, she and Isa could catch up. 

At the corner of the park they were passing, she stopped and turned to face her little brother. The small frown on his face was puzzling. Since when had he worried about her reaction to things? 

“What’s going on habibi? What’s this about?” She bent to speak to him and brushed the hair away from his eyes out of habit, looking into the agitated hazel rimmed pupils that were flicking from the ground to her boots. 

“I just…I don’t want you to feel bad.” He murmured. It struck her then that he had simply been reading too much into her guilty reaction. He didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t doing enough. 

Salma instinctively pulled him forward and enveloped him in a tight bear hug. His head was resting on her shoulder, arms squeezing her in response as neither of them broke their hold. She breathed into his little mane of hair and shut her eyes as she shared the moment with him, how he felt it. 

“There is nothing you could say or do, that would make me feel bad.” She whispered. His grip tightened around her. 

“Je t’aime.” He whispered back.

“Je t’aime plus.”

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that followed, Matt had started interrogating some of the lowlifes he caught. Like he had told Foggy and Claire, most were still kids. And he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure but he was fairly confident they were exclusively white kids. 

Some had mentioned online forums, others had received actual brochures – because apparently these hate groups were backwards socially and technologically. Though it was the printed work that had caught his interest. The internet made things more difficult. The people encouraging these kids could literally be from anywhere in the world. But door-to-door work meant there was something bigger going on right there in Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Sorry about that.” Salma returned with an exasperated shake of the head. She moved fairly quietly in her flat, always walking barefoot. But he could still easily tell where she was by how frequently she whispered phrases under her breath, he could never catch what she said but he was sure it wasn’t in English. 

“The twins have figured out how to send emails on my phone. I’ve still got a couple people to call actually but hey, what’s another hour of them thinking I’ve gone slightly insane.” 

Matt cracked a grin. This had become somewhat of a routine for them, coffee in the tiny kitchen after a morning in the park with Isa. Conversation with Salma was usually stilted and polite, but occasionally she’d be entertainingly candid. Either way he enjoyed being there. It was different, being surrounded by the day-to-day ups and downs of family life. 

“You don’t sound too worried, they can’t have written anything that bad?” 

“No, not that bad. One was to my school’s gym teacher. Who I’ve probably only ever had one conversation with since I started working there.” She said, heaping more sugar into her mug and stirring calmly as she continued, “They told him he smells like carrots and also that he should buy purple shoes.”

Matt almost choked on his coffee. 

“Yeah they read and write pretty well for their age.” She explained, as if that had been the shocking part. “You know they actually spelt purple right, although…that was probably auto-correct.” 

“Not that bad huh?” 

She laughed, just now seeming to understand his reaction. “I guess it’s all relative.” 

He raised his eyebrows in a question. 

Still laughing she set her mug down and started, “Once when Hamza was six, his school had some kind of special kid’s holiday or something. My dad had to work and I had a bunch of tests that day so I couldn’t stay home, instead I just took him with me.” 

“By yourself? How old were you?” Matt hadn’t quite figured out her age yet, it seemed rude to ask directly. 

“I was a freshman. I know,” she laughed again at the look on his face. “I took my 6 year old brother with me to high school. Not one of my smarter decisions.” 

“You did what you had to,” Matt felt the need to point out. 

She shrugged again, “Sure. Anyway most of the day went fine, teachers were nice enough and some would watch him for me during classes. Until one disastrous hallway experience.” She smiled as she shook her head at the memory. 

“See, I didn’t exactly have a ton of friends, so my problem was that I would tell Hamza _everything_. Including everything about people I knew at school. So in about the span of 3 minutes, I ran into both the boy I liked, and the popular girl who I absolutely despised. And on both occasions my little brother audibly asked me for confirmation that they were the two he had heard so much about.” 

Matt winced empathetically. “Not a good day for a freshman.” 

“No,” she agreed. “But it pushes carrots and purple shoes a lot lower on the mortifying scale.

He chuckled at that. He didn’t know when, but at some point this had become the part of his week he would look forward to most. No matter what chaos ensued with the younger children – who their sister affectionately referred to as the kid trio – their home felt enveloped with a sense of peace. It was a strange paradox. Like the kind of calm he only ever felt when he was fighting. Like everything was how it should be. 

Salma’s phone beeped with an incoming text. The second after she picked it up her breathing became short and forced. Like she was scared, or angry? 

“Everything alright?” Matt asked automatically. 

She looked up suddenly, and paused. Matt could feel her gazing intently at him and he forced himself to take a casual sip from his mug. 

“Why?” She asked, almost suspiciously. 

Matt wasn’t sure how to respond. He knew he had asked too quickly, before she could give a more obvious sign that something was up. 

“Isa does that too,” her voice was quiet. In the background he could hear the boy in question teaching his baby sister how to snap her fingers. The intermittent clicking kept interrupting his panicked search for something to say. 

“He’s intuitive. In ways I really can’t explain. But you…you’re even better at it. I’ve seen you with the kids…and I can’t figure it out.” 

Matt was an awful liar, he knew that. But he found himself not even wanting to lie. “It’s…” 

“It’s fine.” She said suddenly, putting her phone down and moving the empty mugs to the sink. Rolling her sleeves and deftly flicking the hanging end of her scarf over her shoulder she stated, “You don’t need to try and explain yourself. You certainly don’t owe it to me. If anything -” 

“You don’t owe me anything either.” He immediately interrupted her. 

He heard her huff but he could tell she was smiling. 

“You know Isa’s been opening up to me about school recently. He says his teacher has started treating him normally.” She spoke casually as she rinsed the mugs. 

“To be honest, I had no idea he was being treated badly in the first place. He says he didn’t want to worry me but that now I don’t have anything to worry about anyway.” She glanced at him as she spoke. 

“He’s a good kid.” Matt said softly. 

She nodded, “He is. Some good people at that school too. I was in there on Wednesday actually, had some paperwork to do.” Her tone was unchanged but Matt could feel it coming. 

“I heard an interesting thing while I was there. Tessa, the receptionist, told me that this man had come in a few weeks back, asking to speak to Mr Palmer, who just so happens to be Isa’s teacher. She wondered if I knew him, seeing as he was um, how did she put it? ‘Living with the same difficulties as my brother’.” 

Matt swallowed. He had no idea why. 

“Weird don’t you think? A blind man, with no connection to the school that anyone is aware of, stopping by just to talk to one first-grade teacher.” She had turned to look at him now, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded, the smile never having left her lips. As she shifted he could hear the light ringing of thin bracelets against each other, he realised they had probably just been muffled before by her sleeves. 

“I’ll say.” He replied. 

She shook her head at him, scarf falling back into place. 

“Thank you.” 

It was all he could do to nod in acknowledgment. This was the second time she had expressed her gratitude to him, and both occasions had left him uncharacteristically embarrassed.

 

* * *

  

“My class has demanded a pizza party.” Alyssa said disapprovingly as she entered the staff room and headed straight for the coffeemaker.

“In the middle of term?” Salma looked up from her ever-present pile of marking to do. She only ever came in here when it was likely to be empty, Alyssa didn’t count though. 

“They all passed their last quiz. Barely, but still, not one failed.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s a low bar but I’ll take it.” 

Salma couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend’s pretend displeasure. 

“It was your idea wasn’t it? You just want pizza.” 

The older woman looked over at her with widened eyes of mock-outrage. “What a rude misinterpretation of my intent. I’ll have you know Miss Taleb, that in my twenty plus years of experience I know a little something about how to motivate my students.” Dropping the serious tone she added, “Pizza just so happens to motivate me too.” 

The two laughed together and sat to enjoy the rest of their free hour as themselves before they had to return to their teacher personas. It was refreshing to have a conversation with someone that wasn’t about family, as much as she loved the kids, it had taken time to condition herself to the lack of socialising that her life in Hell’s Kitchen demanded. 

“Did you hear about Steve Hunter?” Alyssa asked conversationally. “One of our sophomores. Got sent to juvy for a mugging I think.” 

“Oh, yeah I did. I take him for French.” Salma tried to sound as casual as she clicked her pen to start work on the sheet she’d been holding for the last five minutes. Maybe family would have been a safer topic. 

“Probably won’t be long in there though. Not like if it was one of my boys.” Alyssa shook her head bitterly. “Assuming they didn’t get shot first.” She added with a vicious sense of resentment. 

Salma looked over at her with a sudden overwhelming sadness. Alyssa’s three sons were all still in school, and they were good kids but that didn’t stop their mother from worrying about potential encounters with the law. Home of the free indeed. 

When Alyssa noticed the look in her eyes she immediately recovered and patted her back saying, “But that’s not for you to worry about dear. I know you’ve got your own troubles and kids to look out for. No need to walk around with the weight of the world the way you do.” 

Not trusting herself to speak she simply nodded. Her heart certainly had felt heavy of late, between the cowardly text messages and the haunting memory of a missed curfew. 

At the sound of the bell, the two high school teachers exchanged comforting smiles, and set off to their respective rooms of teenagers.

 

* * *

 

Her last set for the day was actually after school hours, with a bunch of her seniors who needed the extra time. It was pretty much just an extension of her normal lessons but a lot more relaxed. Strangely, it was a class that didn’t seem to mind being there. 

“Ok so you all know how we start the week. Who can update us on some French news?” 

A few of the class had been on the same sites and had clearly only skimmed headlines; some not so interesting things on EU politics which they would have struggled to explain in English, let alone French. 

Fortunately an Algerian girl, Mina, excitedly shared her take on the newly released ‘Fatima’. It sounded like a beautiful take on the struggle of immigrants in France. 

“Il s’agit d’une marocaine, vous l’avez vu?” The girl asked her expectantly.

It was a fair question, a film about a Moroccan family in France, why hadn’t she already seen it? In wasn’t that long ago when she would have been entirely up to date with French cinema, scouring the web for movies just like the one her student was describing. 

“Non,” she answered, trying to mask the regret in her voice. “Pas encore.” That was better. _Not yet_. Hope. For what, she wasn’t really sure. 

As the class wrapped up their discussion on other new movies, Salma picked up the pile of papers on her desk and started handing them out.

“So you guys did so well on your last set of group projects that this week we’re gonna start on some group presentations. 

“These are the list of topics you have to choose from – make sure you tell me what you pick so we don’t have two of the same – and your group members are listed at the top. Avez-vous des questions?” 

One boy at the back raised his hand. 

“Tom?”

“Someone’s left their bag here under the desk.” He kicked out a dirty looking red backpack that had clearly seen better days. She recognised it though, Asad, a freshman. 

“Just leave it, thanks. They can come by and get it tomorrow.” 

Returning her attention to the class she remembered that she wanted to show them the new French collection in the library. Anyway that seemed like a nicer place to spend the remaining hour, especially for group work, they could get a lot more done if they were comfortable. Unsurprisingly, the students agreed, and they made their way out of the classroom. 

Salma figured she’d take all her things with her since there was no point coming back again afterwards. The library was on the other side of the school and she might as well just head straight home for the day. As the last student left, she switched off the lights and went to lead the way. 

The chatter behind her was entertaining, as teenage conversation usually is. One girl was stressing about her parents’ reaction to her new boyfriend – he was in college. Her friends were at a loss as to why she even cared what her parents thought, she was already 18. As they turned the corner of another empty corridor Salma sneaked a glance at them, accidentally catching Mina’s eye and the two exchanged looks of amusement. 

The boys were having a similar-themed debate, about the pros and cons of long distance relationships and whether or not it was worth starting something so soon before going off to college. Two of them were expecting football scholarships and they had high hopes to be going to the West Coast.

Salma couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed by how adult they sounded about their problems. A lot of their advice may have come across as naïve, but everyone had to be at some point. It was hardly something to be ashamed about. She remembered when she was just graduating, excited about college, the future, a career, marriage and a family of her own. It had all felt so near but far enough away to not have to worry about the details. 

Reaching the library doors she turned to remind her class to keep it down, Mrs Mueller the librarian was not a woman to mess with. Salma couldn’t tell if she was constantly given death stares because of the one time she brought Imane or because the woman was just racist. She suspected it was a combination. 

The moment she opened her mouth to speak, her bag slipped from her shoulder and she, like her students, clasped her hands over her ears. 

From across the school there had come a deafening bang.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translations:  
> On a fini = We’re done  
> Je t’aime (plus) = I love you (more)  
> “Il s’agit d’une marocaine, vous l’avez vu?” = It’s about a Moroccan, have you seen it?  
> Non = No  
> Pas encoure = Not yet  
> Avez-vous des questions = Do you have any questions?
> 
> Other Translations:  
> Allah (Arabic) = God  
> ‘tha’ and ‘kaf’ = 2 letters from the Arabic alphabet  
> surah (Arabic) = verse from the Quran  
> Sheikh = a title, used for a lot of things but in this context it's a teacher  
> Insha’Allah (Arabic) = God Willing


	5. A Blur of a Day

“Well that was the worst phone call I’ve ever had.” Foggy hadn’t bothered knocking as he entered Matt’s office with Karen following closely behind. 

“They refused to meet?”

“It’s fine, I’ll show up tomorrow with some scary legal jargon and they’ll cave. I’m intimidating like that.” Foggy took the seat opposite Matt and signalled for Karen to take the other but she lightly shook her head and simply stood at the doorway. 

“So you need me for…” Matt was faking ignorance. He knew what they wanted. It was the same every Monday. 

“Dude come on, hearing you talk about your kid BFF is like watching Darth Vader get distracted by kittens. A reminder that under your dark and brooding exterior there’s a soul in there waiting for a hug.” 

Karen chuckled as Matt briefly looked offended before giving Foggy a deprecating look. 

“Do you need a hug?” His friend asked seriously, eyes widened in mock concern.

“Thanks Foggy, I’m good.” 

“So?” Karen started, the mirth clear in her voice. “How did it go?” 

“Good. Really good.” 

“There it is!” Foggy called out smugly. “Didn’t I tell you?” 

“You did,” Karen was still shaking slightly from laughter. 

“What?” Matt frowned, slightly irritated in his confusion. 

“Every time you talk about the kid you get that goofy grin on your face.” 

“I do not have a goofy grin.” 

“Was that a grin?” Foggy directed at Karen. 

“Full of goof.” She nodded. 

Matt shook his head at his friends, as much fun as their banter usually was, lately it had taken a turn against him. He found he didn’t mind it as much as he let on. There was a lot distracting him these days, and the constant of two mocking colleagues was part of what kept him grounded. 

“Come on, just one anecdote and we’ll be off your back.” Karen pleaded. 

“Until next week.” He pointed out with his eyebrows raised. 

“Exactly.” 

He sighed in resignation. “We talked about Harry Potter.” 

“But you’ve never read them. There was that whole thing with a girl in college – what was her name?” 

“Melinda.” Matt replied reluctantly. 

“Yeah her,” Foggy turned his attention to Karen. “She actually broke up with Matt when she found out. She got him the audio books and everything but he wasn’t interested.” 

“Good thing I kept them though.” 

“Wait so you’ve listened to them now?” Foggy was incredulous.

Matt groaned internally, he was never going to hear the end of this. “Isa is a really big fan…”

Karen was clutching her hands together and saying ‘aw’ while Foggy spluttered in front of him incoherently. Something about Melinda being hot and it making no sense.

“And it’s actually pretty good.” He finished. “For a kids book,” he added quickly. He was going to regret this. 

A phone went off and Karen quickly apologised before leaving the office to take it. Foggy glanced behind to see if she was out of earshot before turning back to him and taking a deep breath. This couldn’t be good. 

“Seriously, when are you gonna go for it?” 

“Go for what?” 

“Come _on_ Matt. She’s practically smitten with you. And you like her, I think. I mean it’s hard to tell, you flirt with all women but I’m hazarding a guess here.” 

Matt sighed back into his chair as he prepared himself for the conversation they’ve had so many times before. 

“You know I can’t do that Foggy.” 

“This is the lone-wolf thing talking isn’t it.” 

“I lie to Karen everyday.” 

“Then tell her the truth!” 

“No I couldn’t do that to her. You _know_ that.” 

“The only thing I know, is that you are on a road to self-destruction. Relationships with actual real-life people are what stop us from losing it Matt.” 

“It’s not like I don’t have any friends.” He said pointedly. 

“Yeah I don’t exactly feel like I could stop you from jumping off a cliff if you wanted to but you know what, fine, point taken.” He shook his head. “But this kid, he’s changing things for you isn’t he.” 

Matt said nothing. It was true, Isa had become important to him. It felt like every night now that he’d go out and stop people from getting hurt for what they looked like, and it was that family he’d have in the back of his mind the whole time. 

“It’s good. You needed something like this.” 

He hoped Foggy was right. He suddenly registered that Karen’s heart rate had shot up in the time they had been talking. She thanked her caller before hanging up and rushing back into the office. 

“That was a contact from the Bulletin. There’s been a bombing.”

 

* * *

 

Salma opened her eyes to find herself hunched over on the ground, her ears still ringing. She looked up to see that most of her class had also crouched instinctively, those that weren’t still covering their ears were looking at their friends in shared alarm.

“What _was_ that?” A girl managed, voice bordering on the edge of hysteria. 

This was clearly not a drill. She was the adult here. She had to get it together. Rising to her feet to compose herself she addressed her class. 

“Everyone just sta-” 

The library doors swung open, harshly banging into the side of her face. Salma stumbled to the side, one of her students quickly stopped her from falling over and she cast him a grateful look before turning to see the small crowd that had gathered. There were never too many kids staying after school to study but enough that they were intimidating when they all came together, especially when they looked terrified and were standing to face her. Behind them, an older lady with a wavy red bob over her piercing green eyes was glaring furiously at Salma. 

“ _You_.” 

“Mrs Mueller I-” 

“What was that?” 

“I – I have no idea-” 

“It sounded like a _bomb_.” A student said nervously. Some others around were nodding, every one of them clearly frightened. But they were all still looking at her. 

“We need to call the police.” One of her seniors finally said, taking out her phone. As she dialled 911 Mrs Mueller ushered the rest of them back into the library just to be safe. When Salma made to follow them, the librarian shot her a look of utter loathing and shut the door in her face. She stood outside, silent and unmoving, stunned by the last 5 minutes and with no clue how to start processing. 

“They’re on their way,” Grace said as she hung up the phone. “They’ve already been getting calls. I wonder how bad it is.” 

Salma nodded absently. Still gazing blankly at the door she hadn’t been allowed through. Grace was looking at her sympathetically. 

“Don’t mind her, she doesn’t like any of us.” 

Turning to properly face her, Salma finally took a deep breath as she started to deal with her mess of thoughts. Grace was the only Korean-American in her senior French class. She had been the one worried about her parent’s reaction to her boyfriend. 

“Mam’zelle, are you ok?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. You should get inside. I need to see what’s going on.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, go, don’t worry I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t really sure what she was saying, just that she needed to move and figure out what had just happened. And worse, how to deal with what was about to happen. At least she knew that Hamza had left school and had already taken the kids home. One less thing to worry about. 

As she made her way along the corridor she heard the distant sound of police and ambulance sirens.

 

* * *

 

The entire school was surrounded by police tape, which was the only thing to separate the officers doing their jobs from the growing crowd that had formed outside. Matt and Foggy ducked under the tape as they made their way towards the only police officer who would give them the time of day in this situation. 

“Brett!” Foggy called out. The other man turned to face them with his lips in a grim line. He was dressed in a suit. 

“Sergeant,” Matt greeted him with a nod. 

“It’s detective now.” That explained the suit. 

“Hey congratulations buddy!” Foggy said, momentarily missing the context. 

“Yeah first day, new case and everything so I really don’t have time for this.” 

“Brett the news is already calling it a possible terrorist attack. Do you have any idea what happened?” Matt spoke distractedly as he scanned the area for someone he recognized. 

“You know I can’t-” 

“Did anyone get hurt?” Matt interrupted him, still sifting through the buzz of voices. 

The detective blinked at the slight desperation in Matt’s voice, before apparently making the decision to at least answer that question. 

“No fatalities as of yet. There’s a janitor that’s pretty banged up, 4 students with minor injuries and a teacher that’s already been taken to the ER.” 

“What teacher?”

“I don’t know the details Murdock but I can get them if you let me do my job. I’ve got people that were in the building when it happened that I need to talk to so you two sit tight and don’t go anywhere you’re not supposed to go.” Mahoney was even more serious than he usually was. 

Foggy opened his mouth to speak before Matt raised his hand to stop him. He needed to concentrate. 

To his right were two ambulances where paramedics were treating the injured students. Isa’s brother wasn’t one of them. There was another huddle of students waiting with an older woman as one by one they were asked the procedural set of questions by an officer. Brett had said he went to talk to the people who had been there but he wasn’t with that set of kids. Matt paused to pinpoint his voice. 

“-and you left your classroom with all the students at 3.45?” 

“Around then, yeah.” 

Matt breathed a sigh of relief. Salma sounded like she was still in shock, but she wasn’t hurt. 

“You took everything with you? You weren’t planning on going back?” 

“No, I was going to finish the lesson in the library, and go home from there. I told the kids to take all their things as well.” 

“So you left the classroom completely empty?” 

“Yeah I -” She stopped abruptly, her breathing was becoming shallow as her pulse slowly gained speed. 

“Miss Taleb?” 

“There was a bag.” She said so quietly Matt wasn’t sure if he caught all of it. “He left his bag.”

“Who? Who left their bag in the room?”

“Asad, a freshman. But, he couldn’t have…there’s no way-” 

Brett had already pulled out his walkie and was issuing orders to find the kid. Salma hadn’t managed to calm herself down. 

“Miss Taleb I’m gonna need you to finish this statement at the station. Can you come with me please.” 

She was nodding but her feet weren’t moving. 

“ _Matt!_ ” Foggy was yelling into his ear. 

“Foggy what?”

“Your phone!” The automated voice in his pocket was repeating _Hamza. Hamza_. He immediately picked up. 

“Hamza, are you ok?” For all the Sundays he spent with Isa, his older brother was still withdrawn around him, he only ever interacted with Matt when he had to and even then, his tone always had a shred of suspicion about it. 

“Yeah we’re all fine. But Salma told me she was still at the school and had to wait to talk to the police.”  
  
“Yeah I’m here now, she’s going to the station for a statement.” 

“Can you help her?” Hamza’s voice was lacking all the usual stiffness he had with Matt. 

“Help her?” 

“You know what they’ll do. She’s the only Muslim that works there. Please Matt.” 

The realisation hit him like a slap in the face. He knew that Brett was a good guy, but Hamza had no reason to be optimistic about the police. That was the world they lived in and he felt a surge of anger at whoever had made it that way.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s ok.” 

As he hung up he swiftly made his way to the cop car that Salma was being led to, leaving Foggy to hurry behind him with a series of questions pouring out but none of which he was registering. 

“Matt?” He heard as he was close enough for her to notice him. 

Brett had been opening the car door for her when he looked up with as much surprise. 

“You two know each other?” 

“We’re her lawyers.” He could sense Foggy’s growing confusion beside him but chose to ignore it. Salma too was looking at him blankly. 

“Murdock she’s just coming in for a statement, there’s no need to complicate this.” Brett was tired, stressed and annoyed. The poor guy was on his first day of a big promotion, but that wasn’t Matt’s concern at the moment. 

“This is a criminal investigation. Our client is part of the investigation. We’ll be representing her.” 

“Fine,” he stated shortly, clearly too frustrated by the day to argue. 

Matt got in after Salma as Foggy went to sit in the front passenger seat. 

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly as she slid her seatbelt on. 

“Your brother called, he’s worried about you.” 

That seemed to be enough of an answer for now. She didn’t say anything else as they started the drive to the station. He wasn’t even sure she had heard him. Her fingers were pulling lightly at the ends of her sleeves, unconsciously stretching the material as a few threads came apart. There’d be a hole in them soon enough. Matt realised now that this was her even in a full-on panic mode, her body still while her heart hammered in her chest. She was instinctively forcing herself to take deep breaths, whispering words he couldn’t understand every time she exhaled. He sat listening to her calm herself down as all four of them completed the trip in silence.

 

* * *

 

They had been sitting in the interview room for ten minutes, going over exactly what had happened from the time Salma left the classroom to the point when the police arrived. She was exhausted, her head spinning with the fact that there was probably a city-wide manhunt going down just to find one fourteen year old kid. But there was no way he could have done this. Her thoughts drifted to the image of Mr Cavell, the chemistry teacher, being carried away on a stretcher. His face had been a mix of burns and blue slime that they hadn’t yet wiped off. The after school chem club had been about halfway from her classroom to the library. 

“Miss Taleb?” 

“Yeah, sorry. What was the question?” She forced her attention back on the man in front of her. He was looking at her sympathetically when he sighed and put his pen down. 

“Miss Taleb I know this must be a difficult time for you. It’s only been a month since you personally were the victim of another violent crime and-”

“Excuse me?” The man to her left interrupted.

Salma froze. She still didn’t understand what Matt and his friend were doing here exactly. They’d been silent most of the time, letting the detective ask his questions and letting her answer them. She didn’t have the energy to try and figure out why they felt their presence was necessary. What she did know was that she couldn’t have any of her siblings find out about the street incident and for that reason she didn’t see why anyone at all had to know. 

The detective paused in surprise, and then shook his head disapprovingly. “Some lawyers.” Salma was silent so he gave her a questioning look, when she gave a mild shrug he nodded and explained for her. “Your client was the victim of a hate crime on the night of October the 5th.” 

Matt shifted next to her and she couldn’t help but hold her breath in anticipation of his reaction. 

“The men responsible were charged and I believe they had been stopped before any damage was done.” 

“By the police?” Nelson asked. 

“Daredevil.” The detective spoke the name with an air of tired exasperation. Salma still said nothing, tugging at her sleeves as she mentally called on God to keep her calm and keep the kids safe.

“What does this have to do with your current investigation?” Matt asked bluntly. 

The detective seemed annoyed at that, Salma could understand, he had been trying to be considerate. He turned his attention back to her and asked the question that really flipped things on its head. 

“Miss Taleb the bomb source was located in your own classroom, going off when you and your class would usually have been there. I need to know if that was random or deliberate.” 

Salma found herself registering his words on a delay. _Your own classroom. Random. Deliberate._  

“Have you experienced any similar incidents since the night of your attack? Anything at all?” 

Her breath caught in her throat as she abruptly clenched her fists. Her hands were suddenly freezing with the sweat that was collecting in her palms. 

“Salma?” She heard quietly from her right. The other two men were looking at her with renewed interest and concern. 

“I’ve been getting…messages.” 

“Messages?” The detective repeated. To her right Matt had stilled. 

“On my phone.” She knew she should be elaborating but this seemed to be as much as she could manage. 

“Do you still have them?” 

Nodding quickly she pulled out her phone from her bag. It was a good thing she hadn’t deleted them like she had wanted to. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it would be smarter to have the proof if she was ever going to tell someone. 

She unlocked her screen and handed it to the detective. As he opened each of the four messages from blocked numbers she had gotten over the last five weeks, his expression turned from shocked, to angry, to just plain exhausted. He picked up his pen again and started scribbling notes. 

“Detective,” Matt started before the man huffed and handed the other lawyer the phone. 

Nelson coughed awkwardly before proceeding to read out all four messages. Salma didn’t look at either of them, her gaze was fixed on a tiny black line on the table in front of her where the paint had scraped off. From the corner of her eye she could see Matt’s grip on his cane tighten as his friend spoke. When he finished, the room was silent. The detective was rubbing his forehead, clearly stressed out by all of this.

“You didn’t think to report this?” He asked tiredly. 

Before she could answer Matt spoke up. 

“Detective could you give us a moment alone with our client.” 

He looked over at Matt in exasperation. 

“You have 5 minutes.” 

Once he left the room Matt turned swiftly to face her. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tell you when exactly? You’ve been my lawyers for a whole twenty minutes.” Her irritation at being spoken to with such reproach made her temporarily forget her own nervous state. 

“When you got one of those texts _in front of me,_ why didn’t you say anything?” Impressive that he had pieced that together but seriously, he was _actually_ scolding her for this. 

“Because it wasn’t any of your business.” None of the ‘I didn’t think it was serious’, or ‘I didn’t want to worry you for no reason’. He was angry at her and she was angry that he thought he had the right to be.

“Maybe this isn’t the time,” Nelson said through gritted teeth at Matt. Sure, let him pacify his friend. She hadn’t even asked them to be there. 

The door to the room opened abruptly, and Detective Mahoney entered with a sterner expression than she’d seen on him yet.

“Brett that was hardly fi-” Nelson started before he was interrupted.

“They found the boy.” 

“Has he been arrested?” Salma asked quickly, she was desperate to understand what had really happened. Who really did this. 

The detective looked back at her without answering, his lips seeming to tighten further. 

After a pause she heard a gasp on her left. “You’re _kidding_?” 

She glanced frantically between Nelson and the detective, who seemed to be glaring daggers at each other all of a sudden. 

“He’s dead isn’t he.” 

“What?” She hadn’t meant to be so loud. 

The detective looked at her with an expression of mingled pity and regret. 

“Miss Taleb that’ll be all for now, if we have any further questions for you we’ll be in touch.” He held the door open and waited for her to get up. 

She stared at the open door with a growing sense of horror filling the pit of her stomach. _He’s dead isn’t he_. 

When she felt a hand on her arm she realised Matt was prompting her to stand with him. His anger at her seemed abated for now. Slightly dazed, she stood and left the room with both the lawyers. As she vaguely registered Mahoney offering to give her a ride home, she instantly shook her head. The last place she wanted to be was a cop car. Matt was saying something about walking her home, and when they exited the station Nelson looked at her sympathetically before leaving in another direction. She noticed then that Matt was still holding her arm over her elbow. Not knowing what to say, she started slowly on the way to her apartment. Matt let himself be guided by her and the two walked the rest of the way in silence.

 

* * *

 

Matt had walked her all the way to her building entrance before bidding her good night. He had said he’d check in on her and the kids tomorrow after work. Neither of them mentioned the text messages, or the boy who had been killed. 

It was already dark when she finally got in. Hamza, being the amazing brother that he was, had put the kids to bed. She knew as soon as she walked in that he had been waiting to pepper her with questions, but the second he saw her face he left to make her a mug of hot chocolate. They had sat together in silence on the sofa as she warmed herself with the drink, and finally she had told him that she really was ok and that he should get to bed. No one was going to school tomorrow but they would need to be up early all the same. 

There was no way she was getting much sleep tonight though. She was sat on the fire escape that was conveniently located outside her own room window. Leaning her head, the iron grate was cold against her cheek, but under her was a soft rug she kept especially for nights like these, when all she needed was to sit alone without the hum of kids or teenagers around her. 

Her day had been a blur, this morning felt an age away but everything in between had happened so fast she wasn’t sure if she had noticed half of what was going on at the time, or if she remembered the little she had registered. Or if she even wanted to. She wrapped her blanket tighter around her as she breathed the cold night air. It really was freezing outside, but she liked it best that way. It reminded her of Paris.

The alley that her fire escape looked over was dim and empty, but the life of the city was close enough that she didn’t feel alone in the outdoors. Today had sucked but it was over, she told herself as she pressed her head against the thin metal bars. The kids were safe, and that was the most important thing. She looked up at the black sky, speckled with only a handful of twinkling dots. 

She was seven when her parents had taken her on the only vacation that she could remember. They had gone to Grenoble, a city at the foot of the French Alps. She had never seen anything so grand as those mountains. And the nights there… _those nights_ , under a sky that beamed down at you with a million tiny lights. That whole summer had felt like a fairy-tale. It was before though, before everything. But also, before every _one_. Hamza, the children.

Still gazing up at the dark sky she voiced her thanks, for the memories she had, for the family she had today, and the one she once had. She was grateful. She was _determined_ to be grateful. With that thought, she slid back under her window and slipped it shut. Tomorrow would be a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I let Brett have his promotion even without the Punisher.  
> For Karen fans, she’ll start featuring in this fic a lot more. You’ll get her POV in the next chapter and some of the following ones.  
> I'm not too happy with this chapter tbh but I'm excited to post the next one tomorrow.


	6. “You know the drill”

When Matt finally got to the office it was already midday. He had slept right through his alarms having only made it to bed around 5 am. Inside, Foggy was trying to reassure Karen that yesterday had been a long day for all of them, and that he – Matt – was probably sleeping it off and would be in soon. Karen was about to call his number – for what he assumed was not the first time today, when he entered causing them both to turn to the door in relief. 

“Dude, you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I got in late yesterday and completely forgot to charge it.” 

“Don’t worry,” Karen said hurriedly, biting back her own frustration. “We understand. It was a rough day.” 

“Have you seen the news?” Foggy asked grimly. 

Matt shook his head, whatever it was he knew he didn’t want to hear it, but he needed to. Karen went to her laptop and hit the spacebar. 

– _the terrorist was caught and killed by police shortly after the bombing, which injured six people including four high school students. Asad Malik was the son of Pakistani immigrants and had suspected ties to ISIS –_

“What?” Matt exclaimed as Karen switched it off, her nostrils flaring as she shut the laptop with unnecessary force. 

“How could they say that, they haven’t found anything, no connections to any group, nothing - ” Matt knew this because he’d spent the entire night listening in on the investigation. The kid’s house had been raided, his grieving parents taken in for questioning, and his six year old brother left with his elderly neighbours after having been traumatized by the burly policemen who barged their way into his home. Hours later they still hadn’t found evidence of a motive, but they had found a web history looking into homemade IEDs, and the physical remnants of the boy’s first attempts. Fortunately for everyone, even his final version had resulted in a relatively small radius of damage, not that it mattered if the target had only been one individual. In fact, the only evidence pointed to that exact scenario, but Salma being, well, her - meant that story didn’t fit with the crazy extremist narrative they were painting on the kid. 

“How do you know?” Asked Karen. “I mean I believe you, it’s ridiculous, he was fourteen years old, born and raised here, straight A student, nothing on his record.” Her arms were folded as she tapped her foot in agitation. “Not that they’re saying _any_ of that on the news.” 

“You’ve been looking into this?” 

“Of course! I know bad journalism when I see it, none of what they’re saying makes sense.” 

Foggy was standing stern-faced by his office door. “Brett says the feds are involved. Counter-terrorism is all over this. We’ll need to talk to your friend again before they call her in. We don’t need any more surprises.” 

Matt nodded as Karen bristled with an internal overflow of questions. 

“Ok I get the whole attorney-client privilege thing but is there anything I can do to help?” 

Clearly Foggy had filled her in that Salma was their new client, he couldn’t tell Karen about the threats but he did need to do some digging on who it came from, and if there was one thing Karen had a knack for… 

“Yeah actually. There’s some kind of a hate group, operating out of Hell’s Kitchen. I’ve been looking into them recently but haven’t found any real evidence of an organisation to it.” 

“What do they have to do with your friend? Wait, no, you can’t tell me, that’s fine. Go on.” 

“I have four phone numbers, probably from burners but it’s all we have to go on. The police should already be on this, and soon the feds will be too.” 

Foggy had been listening with a palpable growing unease when he finally interrupted. “Then shouldn’t we just let them do their jobs? What could we find that they won’t?” 

Matt shook his head, “It’s not about what they find, it’s about how they choose to see it.” 

Foggy let out a frustrated groan, while Karen was nodding determinedly, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. 

“I know exactly what you mean. I’ll see what I can do,” she finished, turning to look at him. 

Foggy ran his hands through his hair, his discomfort at all of this was obvious. It was a typical point of discord between them, Foggy had a confidence in the law that had dissipated in Matt the day he found his father lying dead in the street. 

“I’ll tell Salma we’ll be there later today.” He hoped to distract his friend from the conversation with Karen, give him instead something to focus on that he actually believed in. It half-worked, Foggy huffed in assent before all three of them retreated to their own desks. It was going to be another long day.

 

* * *

 

“Why are we having a holiday?” Rayan asked as he leaned across the kitchen table to reach for the cereal box. Imane glared at him as he accidentally brushed past her bowl. 

“I told you habibi, today everyone gets a day off just to rest.” Salma’s voice was tight as she sparingly poured milk for each of the children. There wouldn’t be enough for later and today was not the day to go grocery shopping. 

“But you didn’t say why.” He continued, tipping the cereal into Riyad’s bowl before filling his own. Imane was already munching noisily to his right, while opposite them Isa was shaking his head at Salma when she made to pour him milk. She frowned at the seven year old, then sighed and returned the carton to the fridge before taking her own seat at the table. 

“So why is it a holiday?” Rayan repeated. 

“It just is.” Hamza said brusquely as he entered the kitchen. “Now eat your breakfast.” 

The little boy sunk back into his chair at the reproach. Riyad shifted closer to him and the kids continued to feed themselves with only the clang of spoons against ceramic disturbing the quiet. 

It had already been a long morning for everyone. Disrupting routine never went down well in a household of children, and Salma was already regretting having let the kids sleep in since the extra time in bed had only made them grouchy. Breakfast had been so late it was basically lunch time because Imane had refused to get dressed, and with no energy to reason or discipline, Salma had left her to eat in her pyjamas. 

Looking around her, Salma felt a sudden pity for her young siblings. It was her fault they were grumpy, and the combination of her evasive explanations and her own mood was only making it worse.

“We’ll stay at home today and watch some movies ok? How about the Lion King?” 

“Yay!” Squealed Imane, “I want to watch the one with Kiara.” 

“No I want to see the first one.” Rayan declared. 

“But I want the one with Kiara.” 

“No I don’t _like_ the second one -” 

“That’s enough.” Salma said sharply. “There’s no need to argue about this.”

“But -”

“I said _that’s enough_.” Her voice was raised and she was staring at the two children with a controlled anger. 

They shrunk from her eye-contact and the rest of the meal finished in silence. When they were done she sent the trio to their room to play _quietly_ while Hamza helped her clean up. Isa was allowed to read in the living room and he left without a word though Salma could tell he wanted to talk to her. 

“Ça va?” Hamza asked her quietly as he dried the dishes. She exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter as she bunched her hair to one side of her black hoodie. The side where her jaw was mildly tinted orange after its rude encounter with a door. 

“Have you been reading the news?” Her voice was just as soft. He gave her a grim look which answered her question. 

“You must have known him too?” 

He nodded, “Robotics club. And I’ve seen him at the Mosque too. We weren’t close or anything, you don’t have to worry about me.”

A message tone pinged behind her and she felt her stomach flip at the sound. Grabbing her phone before her brother could see whatever had been sent to her, she abruptly felt her shoulders relax. It was just Matt. 

“Matt’s coming by later. With the other lawyer, Nelson.” 

“Is it about your statement? Will the police call you back in?” 

“I have no idea,” she rubbed her eyes tiredly. 

“Salma are you sure -” 

“We need milk.” She said suddenly. “And we’ll be out of bread by tomorrow.” Her head was a whirl of a hundred different problems, she had no idea what to prioritize. 

“I can go to th -” 

“No.” Suddenly she had something to focus on. “No one is leaving this house, you know the drill.” Her brother nodded in resignation. 

“Until school reopens we stay put. We stay together.” She breathed softly. “And this time, we make it out together.”

 

* * *

 

It was Hamza who let them in that afternoon. He quickly ushered both Matt and Foggy into the living room before apologetically asking them if they could wait a bit. Neither of them needed super senses to understand why.

The sound of a toddler’s tantrum was like scratching glass to Matt’s ears. Imane was clearly putting up a fight about something, and her older sister was not having it. Hamza had hurried to the kitchen where one of the twins was sat on the floor crying in an actual puddle of water – there was an empty plastic cup lying beside him. His counterpart was being led away from the scene hand in hand with Isa. They entered the living room where Matt and Foggy were sitting on the couch, both feeling incredibly intrusive.

“Matt’s here.” The younger boy announced to his brother who couldn’t see. Matt could tell it was Riyad, he was much less energetic than his twin and so despite their shared physical qualities – including their scent – his normal heart rate was actually a fraction slower. “He brought his friend from before.” 

“You remember me!” Foggy smiled at the kids. “I’m Foggy.” 

“Hello.” Isa said shyly. 

“How are you?” Matt asked, the smile in his voice.

Isa brightened at hearing him. “Good.” His expression fell slightly before he continued, “Imane was throwing the toys and now she’s upset that Salma scolded her. And Rayan dropped his cup.” 

“Sounds rough.” Foggy said sympathetically. 

The two children nodded together at him. Imane had stopped screaming but they could still hear stifled sobs. It got louder for a moment when the door to the kids room opened but Hamza suddenly rushed from the kitchen to stop Salma from coming out, dripping water along the way as he forgot to leave the cloth he’d used to clean Rayan’s mess. 

The hallway was visible from where they were sitting and Foggy glanced at Matt in confusion, Hamza was whispering through a crack in the door before it shut and he returned to the kitchen, scowling at the trail he had left. Matt gave Foggy the ‘I’ll explain later’ expression. 

Salma hadn’t known they were here and he could tell she was dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans. After Hamza had told her they were both in the living room she had gone back to spend a moment skimming the wardrobe, before grabbing a shawl and twisting it around her head. It was the kids’ room so the fabric smelt like her baby sister. Matt had noticed that Imane liked to dress like Salma sometimes, draping shorter scarves around her head until they got in her way and she’d tug it off. 

“Hi,” Salma sounded exhausted as she shut the door behind her. “Sorry about all that.” 

“Don’t be.” Matt said automatically. “We should have called in to check it was a good time.” 

“Then you’d have made it here in a week.” Hamza said wearily as he exited the kitchen holding the hand of a sniffing and puffy-eyed five year old. 

Foggy smiled sympathetically at him. 

“Hamza could you take the kids to your room for a bit?” Her voice was as strained as Matt had ever heard it. 

“Sure, what about…?” He signalled to the room she had just left. 

“She’s lying down, she’ll be fine soon enough.” 

Her brother nodded and gestured to the kids to head to his room. Isa smiled at them before leaving, “Bye Matt. Bye Foggy.”

They both said bye back and Matt added a, “We’ll talk soon,” at which the little boy beamed before the door shut, leaving Salma alone with them. She was still standing, her breathing was heavy like she needed to close her eyes and sleep for a week.

“Can I get you two anything? A drink?” 

They almost refused in unison. Matt knew that on any other day she would insist, but instead she sat across from them and pulled at her sleeves so her fingers were almost covered as she waited for them to start. 

Foggy began hesitantly, “So, Miss Ta-” 

“Salma.” She said distractedly.

He started again. “Salma. With the information you gave the police yesterday, there’s a good chance they’ll want to speak with you again. We need to know everything you have to say before you say it to them. Especially now with counter-terrorism getting involved -” 

“Counter-terrorism?” 

Foggy hesitated. 

“The FBI.” Matt supplied. He didn’t want to be evasive with her, she was already dealing with too much. That was clear enough as she was making no effort to mask her stress, dropping her head into her hands as the reality of having to interact with the feds set in her mind. 

“We’re not trying to alarm you,” Foggy said desperately as she hadn’t shifted from her position. “We just need to be ready for whatever happens, and for that we need your help.” 

“I already told you everything.” She said quietly into her palms. 

“Well,” Foggy continued nervously. “We haven’t read the police report on the attack on the street so if you could -” 

“I was attacked.” She abruptly looked up at them. “And the man in the mask saved me. That’s it.” 

Something in her voice switched a light-bulb in Matt’s head. 

“I showed you the texts. I’m sure you got the numbers from that detective. I don’t know anything else.”

Foggy was nervous and uncomfortable but he pushed on anyway because he was good at his job. “Salma we just want to help. It’s very possible that you’re going to need us.” 

“Need.” She laughed bitterly. It wasn’t a sound he’d heard from her before. “What I need is to be able to go to the grocery store without fearing for my life. What I _need_ is to be able to feed my family and keep them safe at the same time.” She rubbed at her face clearly worn out. 

“Look you’re probably right and maybe I will need your help. But tomorrow’s problem is not today’s and I just _cannot_ do this right now. I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what else I can say that you want to hear.” 

Foggy was nodding in disappointment as he rose and nudged Matt to follow. “We understand. Maybe we can talk again when it’s more convenient for you.” 

“Yeah, sure.” She spoke half-heartedly. 

“Good night.” Matt said gently as Foggy began to guide him to the door. She had stilled at that, almost like she had forgotten he was there until then. Recovering, she saw them off as they exited, and the turning of a lock swiftly followed the sound of the door shutting. 

“Well thanks for nothing.” Foggy muttered furiously, since the door was unlikely to be totally sound-proof. 

“She was never going to open up to us.” Matt shrugged 

“I thought you two were friends?” 

“I’m friends with the kid.” 

“But you talk to her too, hell, you _saved her life_.”

“Not as me. But I take your point. She may not be comfortable with me but she was different when I had the mask.” 

“You’re gonna talk to her as Daredevil?” 

He nodded. When she had mentioned his nighttime persona there had been a sudden warmth to her tone. She had only encountered him as Daredevil once and yet she had been more at ease with his presence then than during any of his visits to the house. It may be a long shot but he had to try something. She was somehow caught up in whatever bigger picture this was and even though she had been honest with them tonight, there may be something she didn’t realise she knew. If she couldn’t tell him, maybe she’d tell the Devil.

 

* * *

 

It was nights like this when Salma wanted to bury her head in her pillow and scream, but if any of the kids heard her – and Isa had very good ears – then she’d probably traumatize them. Adults weren’t supposed to panic. 

This was why she had her fire escape strategy. An apt name for it, seeing as she actually had to climb out of her window to find peace from the chaos that was her life. As desperately as she needed sleep, she knew that if she went to bed like this, she would wake up and have to do it all over again without having had an actual break to keep her sane. This was her literal happy place. 

Her headscarf was tied tightly around her neck because of the cold, and she was snuggled within her large red blanket. Family is a blessing, she told herself, shutting her eyes as she repeated the words in her head. 

A soft thud reverberated across the metal grate under her rug and she opened her eyes only to have her breath catch in her throat. There was a man on her fire escape. Black boots, black shirt, black mask.

At least he wasn’t technically a stranger. 

“What are you doing here?” The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. 

“I heard about the attack.” The gruff voice stated simply. 

“And? You think I had something to do with it?” She had no idea why she was being defensive. Or why she was still sat comfortably wrapped in a blanket while a man in a mask stood on _her_ fire escape. 

“I think someone was trying to hurt you.” 

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush was he? 

“So you know about my texts. What are you like a cop in the daytime?” She couldn’t stop herself from chuckling at that. “That’d be hilarious. A vigilante cop.” She was grinning. A part of her brain was yelling at her to be careful but the rest of it was finding her joke very distracting. 

The man in the mask was tilting his head at her. She wondered what he could actually see through the black fabric. If there were slits they must be tiny, and if there weren’t then everything must be kind of dimmed, like with sunglasses. 

“So…was there something in particular you wanted to ask?” 

He didn’t shift from the way he was looking at her, and he was leaning into the shadows so she couldn’t see when his mouth moved. 

“What can you tell me about the boy?” 

Her good humour vanished as instantly as it had appeared. 

“No.” Her voice was cold and distant. “I’m not talking about this. Not here.” 

“Here?” 

“Yes, _here_.” She was getting angry again, it had been a day of short tempers all around. “I don’t talk about stuff like that here, I don’t _think_ about that stuff. I come here, and it disappears. So _no_.” It was a mystery to her why she was explaining herself, rationalising the irrational to a man she didn’t know.

He was silent as he kept just looking at her. The air suddenly felt much colder and she clutched her blanket tighter around her as she rested her head against the bars, looking out into the black alley. 

 _He’s dead_. She saw him sitting at his desk in the back of the room, nervous on the first day of school. He had on an Ice Cube T-shirt, like something her brother would wear. _He liked hip-hop._ When she saw him in the hallway he always had this agitated look in his eyes, like he didn’t know who to be scared of and who to trust. _He was bullied. Like me._ He had said something funny once and made the class laugh. There had been genuine delight across his face. _He was a good kid. And he’s dead. And it’s my fault_. 

“That’s not true,” a voice said softly. 

She looked up at the man with a start. Blinking in confusion she realised she had been speaking out loud, her own voice so thick with bitterness she hadn’t recognized it as her own. That wasn’t all, her cheeks were wet, and numb with cold. 

“He was fourteen years old.” She spoke consciously now, forcing control in her tone. “He was fourteen years old and he died with a bullet in his brain.” 

The man looked back at her without moving. 

“Because _I gave them his name_.” There it was, the self-hate thickening her words as tears slipped from her eyes to where she couldn’t even feel them on her skin. 

“They would have found out it was his, that wasn’t down to you.” He was speaking quickly, a sudden strain in his already hoarse voice.

Shaking her head she buried herself deeper into her rug. He didn’t get it, how could he? He didn’t know what it was like for her, for the boy, for families like theirs, _Oh God_ , his family. She had met them at the start of the year. His parents had been so excited that he had a Muslim teacher, asking her about herself in broken English. They had brought his brother, the same age as the twins. 

Salma remembered the childish joy on the boy’s face when his big brother entertained him while she spoke to their parents, and her whole body convulsed under the red blanket. Sobbing, she held her knees into her face as her shoulders shook with her. 

There was a boy dead because of her. There was a family broken because of her. There was a target on the back of every brown skinned inhabitant of Manhattan because of what _she_ said, the name _she_ gave. 

Her body trembled for minutes until she found herself forcing control of her breath, exhaling audibly with her eyes shut tight. They opened suddenly when she felt a light pressure on her left, over the thick fabric that enveloped her. 

The man in the mask was crouched in front of her, hand on her shoulder as the lower part of his face – still a dim image in the poorly lit outdoors – bore a small frown, like he was trying to hold it back. He was closer to her than she was comfortable with, but his mask formed a boundary between them that made it ok. 

“I’m going to find out what really happened, I’m going to catch whoever did this and you and your family _will_ be safe.” 

Her breathing had quietened, but it was still short and rapid. Beneath the mask, the man held her gaze for a minute longer, before rising to his feet and dropping himself down over the railing. He was gone as quickly as he’d come.

 

* * *

 

Karen had left work early yesterday to go by the Bulletin. If anyone could help her dig deeper than the cops, it would be her friend in the editor’s office. 

He hadn’t liked hearing that she was getting herself mixed up in this.

“Local crime is one thing Page, terrorism is a whole other ball game and not one you want to play.”

“He was an American citizen, and he deserved a fair trial, you know that.” 

Ellison had sighed in recognition of the stubborn determination he had grown so used to. 

“What do you need?” 

It had been far simpler than she’d anticipated. Two of the numbers hadn’t had the Manhattan area code, the stark ‘718’ sat guiltily in her vision. Out of the three possible boroughs, she went with her hunch and asked Ellison’s contact to look into Staten Island. 

She got the call on her way to work that morning. 

“Karen Page?” 

“This is she.” She was leaning her ear against the phone on her shoulder as she stepped onto the street, fumbling with her purse and coffee. 

“Ellison called me.” 

“Oh,” she immediately steadied and held her phone upright. “Did you find anything?” 

“Only one of the numbers has been active in the last week. I can’t pinpoint its exact location at any one time but I can tell you that most of it has come from around Port Ivory.” 

“Port Ivory,” she repeated racking her brain. “That’s…” 

“In Staten Island.” The voice seemed unimpressed. “It’s an area in the Northwest.” 

“Ok, that’s great, thank you so much.” She sped up as she walked down the street, eager to tell Matt and Foggy what she got. 

Hanging up, she turned the corner and stopped abruptly. The man behind her stumbled to stop himself from walking into her and tutted in irritation as he stepped around her.

The street in front of her was packed, people gathered on the road with banners and pickets. A protest? 

“ _Send them back!”_

 _“They don’t belong here!”_

_“God Bless America!”_

It was a sea of white, she realised with a jolt. Nothing like the New York City she knew. As the reality of what was happening dawned on her, she back-tracked and hurried to take the longer route to the office. 

When she got there she was still somewhat stunned. The door was already unlocked, she had gotten late from her detour, even Matt was there before her. The conversation stopped as soon as she entered. 

“Karen?” Foggy asked in concern. “Are you ok?” 

“Did you see them? Did you _hear_ them?” Her tone conveyed the exact amount of horror she felt in her stomach. 

Foggy’s face fell in grim understanding. “Yeah we heard them.” 

Matt too was looking dour as he stood with both hands gripping the top of his cane. 

“How is this happening? _Here_ in New York?” She still couldn’t quite believe it. 

“It’s been building up to this.” Matt said, voice laced with anger. 

“The news isn’t helping, they’re painting the kid like a young Bin Laden.” Foggy shrugged helplessly. 

“So we change the news, we find out what really happened.” She had an objective here, it made it easier to ignore the despair she had felt just moments ago. 

Matt was nodding in agreement but Foggy still sounded defeated, “We have nothing to go on.” 

“I have something.” She said quickly. That got their attention.

“The numbers you gave me, you said they were connected to a hate group. This may not be the Bronx, but Manhattan is still one of the most diverse counties in the _country_. Whatever organisation is influencing that kind of crime here, must be based somewhere else.” 

“You know where?” Matt asked attentively. 

“Two of those numbers had an outside area code that includes Staten Island.” 

“Aka the whitest borough in New York City.” Foggy murmured. 

“Exactly. I got someone to look into it and they narrowed one of the phone numbers down to an area called Port Ivory.” 

“Karen that’s brilliant.” Matt actually sounded like he was in awe. It was moments like this when she was glad he couldn’t see her since she was probably blushing like a teenager. 

“What now?” She asked to distract herself from the heat on her face. 

“You realise we have work to do for cases that are actually relevant to us?” Foggy said, predictably being the one to drag her and Matt back from the clouds of altruism. 

“Salma is one of those cases.” Matt said pointedly. 

“She hasn’t been charged with anything! She’s a witness in an open and shut case, she doesn’t need defence attorneys!” 

“Yet,” Matt corrected him firmly. “Either way I have to check in with her and the kids, especially after all this.” 

Karen nodded in agreement, it was sweet what he was doing for that family. “We’ll stay and look into Port Ivory.” 

He flashed her his smile of appreciation before leaving her with a very disgruntled Foggy.

“You two are the reason we can’t afford a coffee-machine.” 

Grinning, she handed him her unspoiled latte before sitting at her desk with steely resolve in her eyes. She had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translations:  
> Ça va? = You ok?
> 
> I know I'm constantly jumping between POVs but that's kind of what makes it fun for me to write so I hope it's not too distracting!


	7. “Bigger than the law”

Matt stood in the familiar hallway with a large paper bag under one arm. He paused to check if he’d be disturbing anything. Inside the flat, a little girl was fumbling with some wooden blocks, a pair of toddler’s voices beside her as they too piled the pieces into strange-shaped constructions. In the bedroom beside theirs, a teenager was typing into his laptop, earphones playing something in French. 

The heat signature in the living room indicated only two people there; a little boy on the couch, with his hand sliding slowly across the pages of a book, and a young woman beside him, back bent over a small pair of jeans, a needle in one hand. 

Shifting his cane to his hand supporting the bag, he rapped at the door. He cursed at himself when he heard the prick of soft skin breaking against a thin spike of metal, the faintest trace of iron in the air. Salma didn’t seem bothered by it as she got up to throw a scarf around her head before making it to the entrance. 

“Matt. I didn’t know you were coming today.” 

“I needed to know you were all ok, I don’t know if you heard what’s happening…” He trailed off, not knowing how to talk about it. 

She was glancing behind her before she opened the door wider and said, “Maybe we should talk in the kitchen.” 

He led the way as she paused to lock up behind him, he’d been there often enough that he didn’t have to pretend to need help knowing where to walk. As he entered the kitchen he placed the bag on the table before taking his usual seat.

“Yeah, I know what’s happening.” She answered grimly as she came in after him. “I had to play nursery rhymes at full blast so the kids didn’t hear when they came past the building. The upstairs actually complained.” 

“What’s this?” Salma asked, finally noticing what he had brought. 

“I um…I stopped by the store on the way.” He really hoped she wouldn’t be offended. He couldn’t actually place her expression, but after a brief moment she peeked cautiously into the bag. 

“How did you-” 

“I called Hamza. Just to check.” 

“Sneaky kid,” she muttered, he knew her well enough now to note the affection in her voice. 

“Thank you,” she seemed more focussed. Gratitude was always a good distraction from less pleasant emotions. “And look I’m sorry about yesterday, you caught me at a bad time and-” 

“It’s fine, really, I understand.” 

She didn’t seem to buy his sincerity but nodded all the same, before adding another ‘thanks’ when she remembered he couldn’t see. 

As she started fiddling with the coffee maker he thought maybe she’d be open enough today to talk. 

“I heard the high school reopens tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” She sounded exhausted at the thought of it. “Mrs Morales is taking the next two days off for me, to watch the kids. I’m not sending them out just yet.” 

That seemed smart. It dawned on him now just how many things she must have to worry about at once. 

In the living room, Isa had put his book away and was slowly making his way to the kitchen. 

“Hi Matt,” the boy said affectionately from the entrance. 

“Isa, hi!” He pretended to sound surprised, although he was a little. “How did you know it was me?” As he turned to face the boy, he removed his dark glasses out of habit. It usually served as a barrier between him and sighted people, but he never needed that with Isa. 

“You smell like Papa’s aftershave.” 

His sister laughed behind the counter. Her demeanour suddenly cheerful as her kid brother made his way to sit beside her. “Isa’s always telling us what we smell like.” 

“Salma smells like cinnamon and oud.” He said brightly.

“Oud?” Matt asked, his curiosity piqued. It might finally explain the traces of a homey wood-like scent that formed his mental image of Salma. 

“It’s a perfume. Kind of.” She explained sounding slightly embarrassed as she poured the coffee out. 

He hadn’t considered that possibility, there was no taste of alcohol around her. 

“It’s from home.” The little boy piped up.

“Actually it’s Asian, but yeah, they love it in Morocco.” She seemed self-conscious about it so he didn’t push the topic. Regardless, he was satisfied with the explanation. Oud. It was nice. 

The three of them spent the next ten minutes in light-hearted conversation. First Isa was telling Matt about how he was learning Arabic braille, the kid was just full of impressive surprises. Then they talked about their favourite foods and what countries they came from. Matt noticed that Salma kept tenderly brushing the mess of Isa’s hair out of his eyes while they spoke. The little boy suddenly bristled with a rush of excitement when he declared, “You should come to Thursday dinner again! When Salma cooks!” 

Matt hesitated, stilling as he analysed Salma’s reaction to her brother’s invitation. Her pulse had only shifted for a second, in fact he might even have imagined it in his own nerves. Though why he was nervous he couldn’t say. 

“Yeah, if you’d like to.” Salma said to him. “Tomorrow’s cancelled because we’re all too busy but next week should be back to normal. Both Mr and Mrs Morales will be coming…and you could bring your lawyer friend.” 

“Foggy.” Isa contributed. 

“Right,” she grinned at her brother’s obvious joy at the idea.

Matt too found himself smiling broadly at the sister and brother sat across from him, this was what he liked most about being there, the casual loving banter between siblings. The closest thing he had to that was with Foggy, but even their friendship had proved to not necessarily be unconditional. 

He accepted the invitation of course, Isa beamed at him before excusing himself. The boy explained that he wanted to learn as many letters as possible before he had to go back to school the next week. 

When he left, Matt finally had a chance to ask Salma what had been bothering him since the previous night. Even with her conversation with him as Daredevil she had gotten too upset for him to bring it up. 

“You never said…what happened for you to get that bruise.” And he gestured to his own jaw. When she didn’t answer and simply had her eyebrows raised at him, he explained, “Foggy mentioned it yesterday.”

Though her shoulders relaxed, she spoke stiffly, “I got hit by a door.” If Matt didn’t have super senses that told him when someone was lying, there was no chance that he would have believed her. He looked back, expression blank. Even though she had told him the truth, whatever it was she wasn’t saying had switched off the almost-carefree mood that her brother had brought out of her. And it had been going so well…

 

*

 

Salma wasn’t really sure why she had turned so cold so quickly. Her mood of late had been frustratingly mercurial and basically everything in her life depended on her emotional stability. 

Opposite her, Matt looked vaguely hurt. It was strange, seeing his eyes and how expressive they were. He probably thought she was lying. It did sound stupid. Especially when she was being very obviously defensive about it. 

“It was the day of the bombing.” She said quietly, really not wanting to talk about it, but also not wanting to be rude after Matt had been kind enough to bring them much-needed groceries. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. 

She shrugged, not caring much then that he couldn’t see her since it was more for her own benefit. 

“It’s just…after what you said at the station, I wanted to be sure…” 

“What? That I hadn’t been assaulted again?” She wasn’t really sure why his concern surprised her so much. He had been nice enough to all of them since they’d first met. 

“I think if I had then I’d have a lot worse than a bruise to show for it. Unless the man in the mask showed up again.” The words had just sort of slipped out. Her second late-night encounter with the vigilante had left him drifting into the forefront of her thoughts, and it had also given her a lot to self-reflect on, mostly concerning her puzzling lack of propriety around him. 

“It’s a good thing he was there.” Matt said after a pause, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table. He sounded weird about it though, there was an edge to his voice like he maybe didn’t completely mean it. 

“You don’t sound like a fan.” She said slowly, setting her mug down to focus her attention on the man at her kitchen table. The man she still felt like she hardly knew despite the number of times they’d sat in this exact manner, talking about nothing in particular. Today was different though, without his glasses he seemed…open. And he had made that choice himself. It meant she couldn’t in good conscience restrict him to small-talk the way she always did, it just didn’t seem fair today. 

“He’s a vigilante.” 

“No kidding.” She would have scoffed if she had been talking to her brother. “What’s your point?” 

“Well…I’m a lawyer. I believe in the law.” He said it like it explained his entire philosophy on life. 

“Sure, but aren’t you also Catholic?”

He blinked in a way that suggested the question had fazed him. “I am.” The unspoken question was ‘and how is that relevant?’. 

“So…don’t you believe in something bigger than the law?” She wasn’t totally sure why she was pushing him on this, but she was suddenly curious. 

“Bigger than the law.” He repeated, like the words didn’t make sense. His pupils were flicking between two close spots the same way Isa’s did when he was struggling with something. 

“A justice system that…transcends the law. Morality that…isn’t exclusively limited to…man-made rules. Isn’t that what religion is? Faith in something greater than ourselves, than our own intellect.” The concept was clear enough in her head but on a scale of baby-talk to Einstein, how much sense did her words actually make right now?

His expression was still one of someone who had been told for the first time that the earth was round. But his gaze had stopped shifting and when he spoke, his voice was tentative. 

“So…you believe in Daredevil, in what he does? On a moral level?” His brows were furrowed, like he needed to understand exactly what she was trying to say. Not that she had much of an idea what that was.

“Of course. He protects people that the law either can’t or won’t. Without him there’d be even more suffering than there already is.”

“But he hurts people to do it.” 

“Sure. And honestly I don’t have a problem with that. I’m not a pacifist. I believe in self-defence, and the defence of others when that’s not enough. And it rarely is on the streets.” She would know, she had the PTSD to prove it. 

When Matt didn’t say anything she found herself continuing out of a random panic to clarify what she meant, “I mean defence within boundaries. Which the guy clearly has. He’s never killed anyone, at least not that we know of.” In the back of her mind a voice was saying if he had, whoever it was had probably deserved it. But no, she mentally sighed at herself, she wouldn’t technically be ok with that anyway.

“And that’s the boundary?” His voice was now serious and focussed, eyes lifting so his gaze rested to the right of her face. Chestnut, she noted. 

“For me, yeah.” It was the plain and simple truth. And if he didn’t like it well, that wasn’t really her problem. 

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” He smiled, but the statement had caught her off guard. She’d gotten the vibe that her words had had an impact, but apparently not. Eloquence wasn’t really in the skillset of a high school teacher anyway.

“Sure,” she said, not meaning it in the slightest. He grinned, almost like he knew and was internally laughing at her stubbornness. She felt mildly offended at that but shook it off as a sign of her problematic ego. 

He was alright. Maybe Isa was a pretty good judge of character after all.

 

* * *

 

The last few hours scouring the web had left Karen feeling both nauseous and justifiably furious. Matt had been right, so much in the last few months had been building up to the marches that morning. Hate crimes had risen all over the city, not just Manhattan. She needed to find the thread that pulled it all together. 

The first name to look into was the man who had led today’s events. Tim Hanson, a University Professor of American History at Columbia. Whether that was ironic or fitting she couldn’t tell, grimacing instead at the smiling picture of the man who she now knew had an extensive background in spewing hate-speech. Though that might just be the key here. 

His Facebook page was private, but his friend list was not. There were over eight hundred of them – so he was one of those people then – scrolling through she realised there was a (predictable) common trait of all the profiles. Something to her advantage maybe? Tentatively, and with a conscious effort to swallow her revulsion, she clicked the friend request button.

Thirty minutes later, her notification pinged, both to her disgust and satisfaction. There was a point to this, she reminded herself. 

 _Events_. Speeches, rallies, mostly closed-door meetings with people of ‘shared values’. All of them in either Manhattan or… _bingo_ , Staten Island. She opened every single event there in the last three months, nothing near Port Ivory and no location had been used more than once. She cursed under her breath before looking up at the sound of the door opening. Matt was back after checking in on the kid’s family. 

Her spirits lifted as she couldn’t help the smile on her face. There was the goofy grin Foggy had accused him of. He must have had a nice time with the kid again. 

“How did it go?” She asked.

“Good. Really good.” He was still smiling as he shrugged off his jacket. 

Foggy came in, he had left his door open. “You found something out about the kid?” 

“What?” Matt was clearly distracted. 

“The kid that tried to blow up a school but that you both think must somehow be innocent.” He had been on edge all morning, Karen couldn’t blame him for wanting to prioritize their cases but this was too important to her. And to Matt too. 

“Oh. No, I didn’t find anything.” If Karen didn’t know any better, she would think he actually looked kind of embarrassed. 

“Then wha- you know what never mind. Matt we have actual work to get done.” 

“I know, I’m here, I’ll get to it now.” He seemed convincingly apologetic, until the moment Foggy shut his office door. Matt turned to her and asked with renewed intent, “Did you get anything?”

“A name,” she said, trying to contain her sense of excitement. She felt bad going behind Foggy’s back but right now that was the price of getting to the bottom of all this. 

“That wasn’t hard though, he’s all over the news, openly being the voice of these marches. Tim Hanson. A Professor at Columbia, _American History_.” 

Matt scoffed as she had too. 

“He’s been leading talks and rallies across Manhattan _and_ Staten Island. I can give you a list of past locations but there’s no consistency. That’s all I have.” 

He was nodding appreciatively. 

“Thanks Karen, that’s really good work.” And he flashed her his signature Matt Murdock smile before turning to his office, the grin he had on before forming again as he left.

Something about it made her smile and roll her eyes. He was a charmer when he wanted to be, but he really did live in his own world most of the time.

 

* * *

 

The following morning Salma called in sick to work, and she also remembered to tell Mrs Morales that there was no need for her to use her leave that day. 

Salma wasn’t sick. That would have been manageable. It was the twins. 

“J’ai faim,” a little voice groaned. Rayan was lying in bed, tugging at the covers as he wriggled in discomfort. He could smell the soup cooking on the stove and it was making him restless. 

“It’ll be ready soon,” she murmured, stroking back Riyad’s hair as he was sat on the edge of the bed, his sister holding a bucket in front of him. When he finally let out a soft exhale and shook his head up at her, she put it down and let him rest.

Salma peeked into Hamza’s room on her way out, Imane was playing there so her sick brothers wouldn’t be disturbed, and so that it wouldn’t be her next. The child seemed perfectly preoccupied, tiny toy cars littering the floor as she went “vroom vrroom.” One out of four good, her big sister noted. 

When Salma made it to the kitchen she paused at the scene, three out of four not-so-good. Isa was sat at the table, frowning at his untouched plate of bread and butter. He looked up as she came in. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

Brilliant. He hadn’t eaten breakfast either. She braced herself for the ensuing dispute. 

“You’re sick,” she sat by him and pushed his hair behind his ear. 

“I’m fine.” It was in the genes, the obstinacy.

“You’re sick.” She repeated calmly. “Like the twins, and if you don’t have something you’ll get worse.” 

“I can’t, I’m not hungry.” Even sweet-tempered Isa turned cranky for the flu. 

Leaning over she kissed his head, then went to investigate the pot on the stove. Good timing, she thought, switching off the gas before spooning the soup into two bowls.

“You’re eating this,” she said firmly as she handed one to him. “And then you’re going to bed.” 

He opened his mouth to argue, before intelligently recognising defeat. After his first mouthful though, he became progressively less reluctant to eat. Salma smirked at the sight, she knew it was true, but it never hurt to be reminded what a good cook she was. One out of three possibly handled, now to check back with the last two.

 

*

 

By the time it was evening she was tired to the bone, having spent the day going back and forth within the flat in her attempt at some kind of quarantine. When one was hungry, another was puking, the other was too cold, then too warm, then Imane got bored and brought her cars to the living room, almost breaking Salma’s ankle in the process. 

Nursing what was probably a sprain, she lay back on the couch in the rare minutes of silence, snug in her thick hoodie. All four had finally fallen asleep, _at the same time_. Miracles were very real. Her eyes were shut when she heard the key in the front door. 

At the sound of footsteps she asked sleepily, “How was your day?” 

“Fine.” Her brother’s voice was thick with the tone of someone who was not fine. Understandable, these things were hard to forget. 

“How bad does the school look?” She shifted slightly on the couch, making room for him to squeeze in but he was standing somewhere behind her. 

“The corridor’s been cleaned up but the rooms there were sectioned off.” 

“And everyone was normal?” She mumbled, drowsiness getting the better of her. 

He didn’t answer, she thought maybe she had drifted off for a second. 

“Hamza? You there?” She forced her eyes open and strained her neck to catch a glimpse of him. The second she did a gasp fell from her lips and she shot to her feet, gritting her teeth at the sharp pain in her forgotten ankle. 

“Ce qui t'est arrivé?” Her question was firm and authoritative. She wasn’t scolding him but she needed to know what happened and she needed to know now. 

He mumbled something and avoided her eyes. 

“ _Hamza_.” 

“It was some boys at school,” he repeated louder, the shame written across his discoloured face. 

Staring at the blue tinge around his eye, she compelled herself calm and went to grab the ever-available first-aid kit from her room. 

“Assieds-toi.” She commanded as she walked past him. 

“I’m fi-” 

At the look she gave him, he immediately conceded and sat as she’d told him. When she came back, she sat on the table in front of him and took out the disinfectant, scanning his face for all the open-wounds. 

“Is this it?” She asked softly, dabbing lightly at his skin as he clenched his teeth. He gave a short nod. 

“Mrs Jones saw and stopped them.” He finally answered when she’d finished cleaning the cuts. Alyssa, she’d have to thank her tomorrow. 

Shutting the box, she moved to sit beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. She wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be ok, but that wasn’t what he needed from her. He was fifteen and more than anything, his pride was hurt. They both knew what it felt like, they shared this, like they shared everything. 

He leaned his head on her own, dark brown curls against black, and the two stayed that way in the silence of the flat for a while, grateful for the moment, and each other. 

When the beginning of a child’s cry sounded in the bedroom, they both sat up, tired, but with renewed fortitude. 

Starting to rise from her seat, Salma almost fell back on the couch at the sudden banging on the front door. The two siblings looked at each other in a moment of shock, only to jump to their feet as the door smashed open. With her scarf nowhere near her, Salma instinctively pulled her hood over her loose hair as three men burst into their living room, _guns out_ and pointed at them. 

“Hands over your head,” came a commanding voice. 

They both held their hands up, breathing rapidly in a mix of anger and fear. 

“Salma Taleb?” The same voice said, tone unchanged. 

She nodded slowly. 

“You need to come with us.” The man on the left walked towards her as the other two remained still with their weapons raised. It was Riyad crying inside. She could tell because it was low and choking like he didn’t want to make a sound, the others always did their best to be heard when they were upset or in pain. 

The man pulled out handcuffs from his belt and locked her arms behind her in a firm grip as she found her wrists clasped together. 

“You can’t ju-” Her brother started before she elbowed him harshly in the rib. The three yellow letters on the mens’ jackets may not intimidate a fifteen year old, but she knew what it meant. It meant this was when justice and personal rights were thrown out the window, and you do what you’re told so you don’t get shot. Especially with their four kid siblings in the next room. That said, she needed to think fast so her brother didn’t do something stupid. 

“L’avocat” She muttered under her breath. He looked at her, confused for a second before stilling in understanding. 

The man behind her shoved her forward to start walking. 

“You got something to say, you say it in God damn English.” 

It was all she could do to not roll her eyes despite her panic as she was marched out of her own home in cuffs, without the dignity of proper clothing. French was pretty much the most pretentious language in the white world. These losers probably thought she was speaking Arabic or you know, something Asian. 

She couldn’t help it as the man pushed her out of her flat, “ _Connard_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translations:  
> J’ai faim = I’m hungry  
> Ce qui s’est passé? = What happened?  
> Assieds-toi = Sit down  
> l’avocat = lawyer (or avocado...)  
> Connard = asshole


	8. “This didn’t happen”

Matt was already on the roof, planning a stakeout of this professor, Tim Hanson, and see what he could find. There was the usual noise from his building which at this point was like background static to him, but before he could go anywhere he heard a faint automated voice coming from his own apartment. _Hamza. Hamza_.

Immediately, he turned in haste to get back inside to his day phone. 

“Hello?” He asked as he held the phone against his mask. 

“Matt?” It didn’t sound good, the boy was in a panic. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Salma, they took her.” 

“Who? Who took her what happened?” 

“The _CIA_ ,” he spoke the letters like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “These three guys just barged in and- and, they just took her.” One of the children was crying in the background, but Matt didn’t have time to worry about that right now. 

“Can they even do that? Matt what do I do?” 

“No,” he said firmly, not sure if he was telling the truth. “No they can’t, just stay put, look after the kids. I’m gonna fix this.” 

“Matt-” 

“Stay there,” he repeated. “I’m sending Foggy over but I…I’ll make sure we find her and _I will fix this_.”

When he hung up he found himself wondering how on earth he was supposed to do that. He had a sick feeling that he had lied, and that the CIA were actually within their rights to do what they did. Going up against criminals and dirty cops was not the same as going up against the actual law. 

The words rang in his head without him expecting it, a gentle voice, prompting him to think. 

_Don’t you believe in something bigger than the law?_

Didn’t he? Wasn’t that what made Daredevil in the first place? Or was that always just the demon inside him. The demon she seemed to trust.

 _Of course. He protects people._  

Matt clenched his fists and took a breath. He was going to do what he always did. Protect the innocent. No matter who he had to face to do it.

 

* * *

  

Salma was blinking restlessly in the pitch black, her breath warm on her own face as a thick cloth stuck uncomfortably against her skin. They had pulled the fabric over her before leading her limping out of the van that she had been unceremoniously shoved into. 

A rough hand on her shoulder pushed her into a chair, forcing her still-cuffed arms over the back of it. Despite the feel of the iron around her wrists, she instinctively made to shift her hands when she heard the clang of metal before the pain made its way up her arms. 

The sound of her harsh movements had echoed, like she was in a big empty room. Nothing about that screamed ‘above-board legal activities’. There was no way out of this for her. 

What she needed was to breathe, and pray.

Not that she was given much time for that, footsteps echoed around her and her rising dread brought the taste of bile to her tongue.

Feeling the cloth slide against her face and her own hood underneath fall back, she was struck with a fresh wave of anger. Her hair had cascaded over her shoulders and both of the two men in the room were staring directly at her.

The place was barely lit so she didn’t need any time to adjust to it, seeing perfectly clearly when the guy who had removed the execution-style garment crouched to her eye level, “Time for a talk.” 

Salma bit back the indignant response forming in her head. Sass was cute on TV but in real life you’d have to either be stupidly arrogant, suicidal, or both. 

“Doesn’t look like she wants to.” The man further away commented, _still looking at her_. He was fair-haired, clean-shaven, and had his arms folded over his chest like a patronising son of a – well, like a really annoying guy.

“We just have some questions for you Miss…Taleb, is it? That short for something?” The other one pulled over a chair that she hadn’t noticed, and sat opposite her, almost knee to knee. 

Really, like she hadn’t heard that jibe before. 

“Any reason you need me handcuffed for these questions?” Out loud, her voice was meek and timid, and it disgusted her. 

“Just a precaution, it’s procedure.” His face held a false and frankly abhorrent smile. 

 _Precaution_. In case she what, had secret samurai strength and could take down three trained federal agents? _Three_. Where was that other guy? 

“How about we start simple, yes or no.” He leaned back, finger tapping at his holster as he kept his gaze fixed on her. The feel of her hair against her cheek made her want to simultaneously pull it back and toss her head so it fell like a veil in front of her, the result was that she was unnaturally still. 

“First question,” he continued as if she’d agreed to this. “Were you the teacher of Asad Malik?” 

She was innocent. She was innocent and she had nothing to hide so if she just got through this then she could go home. 

“Yes.” 

“Did you know him well?” 

“No.” 

“Is it not true that you met his family?” 

“I met them once-” 

“And your brother, he knew them too.” 

“They were in the same school-” 

“They met at the local Mosque?”

“They ran into each other, there’s a dif-”

“You weren’t born in the United States, is that correct?” 

“I- yes.” 

“You’re from Morocco originally?” 

“I, yeah but- I’m from France I was born in-” 

“You’ve been to Morocco?” 

“ _Once_ , I don’t even remem-” 

“Yes or no will be fine.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Relaxed in his chair like he was watching a football game. 

Her fingers were starting to feel numb, arms bent awkwardly so that whatever blood made its way through was blocked again by the metal grating at her skin. 

“It says here in your police report,” and he opened the file his partner passed over to him, “that you missed the bomb blast by…let’s see…is that less than three minutes?” His gaze had only left her for a moment to skim the page in his hands. He looked at her with a taunting smile, “That’s pretty lucky don’t you think.” 

Some of her layered curls were starting to stick uncomfortably on her neck, she wasn’t sure when she had started to sweat. 

“Or maybe…maybe it wasn’t luck.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. She preferred this, if he was going to accuse her of something she’d rather he straight-up said it. 

“That’s insane,” she noted with panic that she was talking out loud. “Why would I want to blow up a stupid classroom?” 

“Did you not like the room?” He said with a raised eyebrow. He was mocking her. 

“No that’s not what I- this is crazy. _You’re_ crazy.” Hysteria, there it was, rising in her chest till it reached her stupid voice.

“Careful girl,” the man’s voice was dangerously low all of a sudden. “You don’t want to make this worse than it already is.” 

“And what _is_ this exactly?” A new voice, female and authoritative, suddenly rang in the large room. 

The man in front of her shot to his feet. “Boss-” 

She didn’t let him continue, “I just got a call, saying three of my unit have arrested a witness in the high-school bomb case, _without my approval_. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

The dark-skinned woman had her hair in a tight bun, and wore a blazer instead of the blue jackets of the men. She briefly glanced over at Salma before returning her stern gaze on the man with the file. 

“She’s a suspect.” He stated simply. 

“How’d you figure?” The bite of outrage to her voice explained the informality in her words. 

“She was present, unharmed, had a connection to the bomber-” 

“She was a _victim_ , and potentially _targeted_. _That_ is what is on the police report.” 

“Those NYPD cops were way out of their depth on this, this was a _terror_ attack.” He was clearly ruffled but still viciously adamant. 

“I am well aware of what this was and if I ever need you to explain the situation of one of my own cases to me you can be sure I’d first have to be blind, deaf, dumb _and_ dead.” 

The man was clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, but said nothing, just barely tipping his head to accept the reproach. 

The woman put her hand out, palm up, “Keys.”

He complied with the request and she walked over behind Salma. When the pressure suddenly released from her wrists, her arms fell to her side, hanging limply as she reminded herself to breathe. The two men were already walking away, leaving her with the woman in charge. 

“Tha-”

“This didn’t happen.” The same woman’s voice cut hers. 

“What?” 

“ _This. Didn’t. Happen._ And if it did, you can be sure it was perfectly legal.” She stepped out so she was standing in front of the chair, where the man had been. Her dark eyes boring coolly into Salma’s. 

After the moment it took her to process what the woman was really saying, Salma gave a slow nod. 

“Good.” The agent’s tone was business-like. “You better get home. It’s dark outside.” And just like that, she walked away. Boot heels clicking against the floor and reverberating within the walls. A door opened and shut. She was gone. 

Salma took One. Two. Three deep breaths. 

She was sitting on a metal chair. In the center of an empty room. Somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen. 

Lifting her arms to her lap, she gingerly ran her fingers along the red imprints across her wrists. It took her a second to realise that the motion made her skin sting, and she abruptly stopped. Still sat, she turned her palms to face her, and tested her muscles. The numbness made it a strain just to bend her fingers, but her left thumb was barely twitching in response to her efforts. 

It’ll be fine, she told herself. Another deep breath. She started trying to tie her hair into itself, before giving up due to her unresponsive fingers, and instead bunched it all at the back of her head so she could pull her hood back over. 

Slowly getting to her feet, she took a cautious step forward with her dodgy ankle. She only had her socks on since her apartment could get cold, but she never wore shoes inside. The movement didn’t feel good. Deep. Breaths. Another step forward, and another step closer. To…a door? Please God, let there be a door.

 

* * *

 

Matt had gone straight to the precinct, since there were no CIA offices in Hell’s Kitchen then surely any interrogations would happen at the police station. He was on the roof scanning for her voice when he instead heard Mahoney in conversation with a different woman. 

“Look Ma’am I’ve given you everything we’ve got on this.” 

“And you know we’re here just as a formality. The FBI are already considering this a closed case-” 

“But _it’s not_. This woman might have been the target-” 

“Text threats to a high-school teacher are hardly the prelude to a terrorist attack Detective.” 

Brett contained a noise of frustration before his phone rang and he excused himself. 

“What?” 

“Hi to you too. But I didn’t call for fun banter.” 

What was he doing? He was supposed to be watching the kids. Matt strained his ears to properly pick up the other end of the phone conversation. 

“This is not a good time Nelson.” 

“You’re with the NYPD, it never is. But this is serious Brett, it’s about a client.” 

“Ok, what?” 

“There we are again with the attitude.” _What was Foggy doing?_ “It’s Salma Taleb. From the school. The CIA just got her.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m talking to their agent on the case right now, they don’t have her.” 

“Three dudes waltzed into her flat over an hour ago and took her out in cuffs.” 

Brett was taking short, angry breaths. 

“Foggy you’re sure? I can’t go messing about with these people.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Brett hung up to turn back to the woman he’d been speaking to. He started to paraphrase Foggy’s news and she was getting progressively more pissed off as he went on, before saying she’d go fix it. 

Not bad Foggy.

 

* * *

 

When the woman’s car stopped outside of a seemingly abandoned warehouse – Hell’s Kitchen had a lot of those – Matt dropped himself down off the roof to get access to the building entrance. There was a man standing in front, who clearly had a shock when he saw who got out of the car. Practically stuttering to her, the woman walked past him without a word. He must have been one of the men who had gone into Salma’s home. 

Coming up from the shadows of the street, in an instant he had the agent out cold on the floor. He deserved a little more than that but Matt didn’t want to draw the attention of whoever was inside. Before he went in though, he noticed a thick scarf bundled around the man’s neck, it was a particularly cold night. Matt pulled it off and then followed where the woman had gone, keeping a reasonable distance. 

 _“-without my approval_. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

The man she was talking too seemed just as stressed as the other one had been to see her. 

It didn’t make sense to interrupt, if anything it would probably look much worse for Salma if the local vigilante tried to protect her from the CIA. Although, how exactly that would look to anyone, he had no idea. 

“Keys.” 

The man handed it over like an angry teenager with a confiscated phone. And without another word, he and the other moron standing there started towards the exit. Matt stepped further into the shadows, he knew who they were now. He could find them another time. 

The woman had uncuffed Salma and was…threatening her? Matt clenched his fist, ready to barge in there and dare her to do it again. But there was a bigger picture here and he wasn’t about to throw Salma under the bus by ignoring it. She was taking a while to get it, and when she did, the woman seemed satisfied. Matt let her leave too. Another time, he reminded himself. Outside, the two men had been shocked to find their colleague knocked out, but had lifted him into their van without a scene. The woman too, got in her car to leave. 

He could go in now, make sure Salma was alright. But his feet were still and so were hers. She was having difficulty moving her hands. The cuffs had messed with her circulation, probably some nerve damage. He could go in now, he remembered again. She had gotten to her feet but one of her ankles were swollen. When had that happened? And really, they hadn’t let her put her shoes on either? He realised again that he still hadn’t moved. 

Rebuking himself, he shifted so he was in the path of the exit. Standing still so he wouldn’t scare her. 

She stopped abruptly when she saw him. Barely a few metres away since it was so dark. He knew she had recognised him immediately because her reaction was of shock and not fear. 

“Are you ok?” He kept his voice low, aware of how much quieter the room was to her than him.

Still she just stood there, her gaze hadn’t shifted but all he could hear was her breathing, short, but a forced controlled pace. 

“What do you want?” Her tone was distant and cold, like he was a stranger getting in her way. Except he knew her. And he knew she was scared, and upset, and humiliated. 

“To help.” 

She looked at him for another few moments before unconsciously shaking her head as she made her way past him. He followed her as she stepped out of the building. 

Her hands hand moved to hold her hood tight around her neck, self-conscious now that they were under the street-lights. He’d forgotten she didn’t know he was blind, and immediately turned his head so he wasn’t facing her. 

“Here,” he said handing her the scarf he had taken as that man’s unintentional recompense for his actions. 

There was a moment of hesitation before she reached out. Even as she held it in her hands, she seemed confused. When he pointedly turned his back to her, she finally pulled down her hood before wrapping the scarf around her head, her movements slow due to her semi-immobilized fingers. The whole time she was looking at him, but he couldn’t gauge her expression because of the confusing mix of signals she was giving off – probably from just having been on the less pleasant side of an interrogation. 

At the murmured “Thank you,” he turned back around. The tension had fallen from her shoulders as she held her chin higher, no longer bowed to the ground. 

“I’m going home.” She said simply. 

Matt didn’t move, he wasn’t letting her go anywhere by herself and surely she knew that. 

“Ok.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say to her but it was what came out. 

She had something to say too, but she didn’t. She turned around and started walking. Limping really. Matt had to fight back the urge to reach out and help her. Since that first day they had shaken hands, he noticed she would subtly shy away from any contact, in fact even in that moment he had read a strange reaction from her, like she had to push away an instinct to do it. The only exception had been that night on her fire escape, but she’d been pretty distracted at the time. 

Letting her lead, he stayed close behind but in the shadows. It wasn’t late enough that the streets would be empty, but the area they were in wasn’t exactly a social hub so he wasn’t too wary. She could take as long as she needed to, he would be there all the way.

 

* * *

 

Salma’s limp was getting worse against the gravel of the ground, her ankle throbbing with every step she took. They must have been walking for ages, not that the man in the mask seemed to mind, he’d been silent the whole time, although if he’d disappeared at some point she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She never turned to check where he was, fairly confident that he’d be somewhere close. 

At first she didn’t have a clue where she was going, ‘anywhere but here’ was the destination in mind. Knowing that she had a ninja-like bodyguard behind her, she walked through basically every dodgy alleyway she saw, weren’t they all shortcuts to somewhere anyway? 

Finally turning into a proper side-walk, she breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized the apartment buildings. Only a few more streets now. Assuming she could make it that far. Noticing a bench ahead of her, she hesitated, before hobbling towards it, hands unclenched in her hoodie pockets. 

Taking a seat, she shut her eyes as the pain lessened. She hadn’t been outside at this time of the day in ages, and though it was a safety precaution, there was something beautifully liberating about the cold city air on her face as she sat surrounded by empty road without a shred of fear to burden her. 

“Was it them?” The familiar voice came from her right. The man had taken a seat on the bench, and he nodded to her feet as she spoke. 

“No. I tripped on a car. My sister’s.” It sounded so stupid. Kind of like when she had told Matt that she got hit by a door. The man didn’t question her though, then again, if anyone should be explaining themselves right now… 

“So what were you doing there?” 

“I came to help." 

“So you said. Care to be more specific?” 

“I heard they got you.” 

“What, d’you have ears all over the city or something?” For a second she thought she saw the man smirk at that. 

“I like to stay updated.” 

She hummed disapprovingly at his evasive answers. Still keeping her hands in her pockets she tried again at flexing her fingers, but the slow jerky movements weren’t comforting and she stopped. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” He spoke suddenly. 

It didn’t make much sense as a response but she just shrugged anyway.

“It wasn’t right for them to do that.” He continued, more like he was telling himself than her. 

“Right as in moral or legal?” She was doing the same thing, thinking out loud. Though as the words came out she got the vague impression that she had already had this conversation with someone. 

The man laughed almost bitterly, but he didn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” It was weird hearing a guy who could beat up entire gangs with wooden sticks sound so tentative. 

“Yeah why not,” she half-muttered. 

“The last time…with the guys on the street. What they were going to do to you…it was so much worse. But you…” 

At the back of her mind, Salma had a hunch of where he was going with this, and he didn’t seem to know how to say it so, feeling generous, she prodded with, “But I what?” 

“But you weren’t as shaken.” He finished. 

She shook her head, resigned to what felt like a permanent state of confusion. “You sound like my brother. He’s seven and he reads me like a book. Braille,” she added, not really sure why. “It’s almost scary.” She was doing it again, foregoing the filter. What was it with this guy, he was practically a ghost and she didn’t seem to register how creepy that was. But maybe that was it, he didn’t seem real enough for her to worry about social conduct. 

When he didn’t say anything she started debating whether or not to articulate her thoughts on the matter, and then realised she was going to end up talking anyway. 

“They would have killed me that night on the street.” Would he get that? 

“And that didn’t scare you?” 

“If you think I wasn’t scared then you’re not as good at this as I thought.” 

He might have smiled. She couldn’t tell. 

“But you’re right, today was worse. Today was worse and it’s because I’m a selfish excuse for a sister.” It wasn’t what she had meant to say, it wasn’t even what she had realised she thought.

“What are you talking about?” He sounded genuinely offended for her. 

Finally turning her head to face him, she found herself struck by how innocent he suddenly looked in the dim lighting, a silhouette of a man in thin black clothes despite the cold, the lower half of his face forming a child-like expression of confused indignation. Maybe he’d get it, maybe he wouldn’t. 

“It’s easier to die a martyr than to be the one left behind.” She would know. “I was ready to die. I was ready to die because I’d forgotten that I’d be the one leaving people behind.” It had taken the young voice of an assailant to remind her. “I ran because I had to, because a part of my obligation to God is to my family, and He wouldn’t let me be a martyr for giving up on them. I ran because I was supposed to, and not because I wanted to.” 

The man’s expression had slowly shifted into a frown. 

“So what does that make me?” She asked quietly, this hadn’t been where she had meant to go with this. In the silence that followed she found herself searching his face for an answer. Because she certainly didn’t have one. 

As soon as his lips parted, she spoke quickly. “And don’t say human.” He shut his mouth. So the vigilante was cheesy as hell, that wasn’t actually a huge surprise.

“You’re a good person.” He said unexpectedly. She was more amused than anything else.

“You don’t even know me?” This was weird. Everything about this was weird. She was sitting on a bench late at night in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, without her shoes, with her pyjama tank top under her grey hoodie, a stranger’s scarf around her head, and a man dressed in black with a mask over his eyes on the other end of the bench. Just in a casual conversation about life. _What was she doing?_ Hamza would be freaking out, the kids were _sick_ , she had work tomorrow. Deep. Breaths. 

“What?” The man had said something but she hadn’t caught it. He shook his head and got to his feet – except he had shoes on. Boots. That seemed comfortable. 

“We need to get you back.” 

Yeah, voice of reason all of a sudden. Sure. 

Allowing herself a whispered prayer, she rose in turn. Time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing has slowed down a lot for me and I don’t expect to have much time over the next couple weeks so I’ve got one more chapter I can post on Sunday before possibly disappearing for a bit. Or possibly not very long at all but just in case, this is a heads up.


	9. “Habeas corpus”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter sorry, and now that I think about it, it’s mostly a ton of introspection.

Salma woke with a start as a hand gently touched her shoulder.

“You ok honey?” Alyssa was sat beside her, coffee in one hand and a look of understanding concern on her face.

“Yeah, just dozed off for a bit. Thanks.” They were in the staff room, someone had just left and the door swung shut leaving the two of them alone.

It had been around midnight when she’d finally made it home last night, the man in the mask had disappeared when she got to the building. He hadn’t said anything, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the last time she’d see him. It surprised her that the thought didn’t weird her out. He seemed alright.

What _had_ been a surprise was the blond man standing behind her brother when he’d opened the door for her. It seems he’d been there most of the night. When she had told her brother to call a lawyer she had had a different one in mind, but she appreciated the help nonetheless. Nelson – no, he’d insisted she call him Foggy, had contacted that detective from before, the one who kept helping her. Somehow, it was down to them that her interrogation had been called off. She couldn’t be more grateful, and she’d have liked the opportunity to say so but he’d left in quite the hurry, emphatic about letting them get much-needed rest. The kids at least were already asleep, Mrs Morales had been in to help and Hamza said they had been feeling much better after dinner. Salma tried to thank her neighbour properly that morning when she came back to watch the kids for the day, but she had been half-asleep after the restless night she had gotten.

“The kids still sick?” Alyssa asked as Salma rubbed her eyes.

“They’re better, should be back to normal by Monday I hope. I don’t think it was a particularly bad bug, it’s just that messing with their routine and everything hasn’t helped.”

Her friend was nodding empathetically. This was what mothers talked about to each other. Mothers plus her.

“And with everything else? You’re ok?”

Everything else meant a whole lot more than what Alyssa realised. But that wasn’t her burden to bear.

“Yeah I guess. Hamza doesn’t look great but thanks to you he’s still walking. He can go to the Mosque today like always but I’m not taking the kids out.”

“I understand.” And she really sounded like she did.

“I should get back to work,” Salma said, eyeing the papers to her right. She had been trying to write comments on her students’ essays but holding a pen had been a bit of a challenge, her thumbs weren’t quite over yesterday’s events. The other teacher nodded and left to her own classroom. That was when her phone rang, default tone, saved by the bell, Salma thought as she let the papers sit abandoned again.

It was Matt.

“Hello?” Unless it was her brother, she hated answering the phone like she knew who was on the other end. Even though caller ID had been a thing for ages now.

“Salma, hi.”

“Hi Matt.”

“Listen I…I wanted to apologise about yesterday. I couldn’t be there and…”

“No it’s fine, Hamza said you’re the one that called Foggy so thank you. He really helped.”

“Yeah, I heard.” If Salma didn’t know any better, she’d say there was a vague air of regret about his tone.

“So really, it’s fine.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it. The truth was she had felt a bit slighted that he had called Foggy to come instead of showing up or doing something himself. But she couldn’t really blame him. They weren’t even really friends, they just had a mutual one.

“Well I was wondering about this Sunday…”

She hesitated, the rule was minimal time outside of the flat, for all of them. But the kids didn’t understand that yet and she didn’t want to ruin the best day of Isa’s week for him. Anyway, he’d be in fairly safe company.

“Sunday’s fine for Isa, if it is for you. But you’ll have to pick him up, Hamza’s not going to soccer so it’ll just be the two of you.”

“Ok sure, no problem. I’ll see you Sunday then.”

“Um, yeah.” She hung up suddenly, realising how awkward she had just sounded. It was his tone, it had just thrown her off. Like it wasn’t a casual ‘I’ll see you’ but a purposeful one, of course she knew that was just because he always sounded like that, weirdly intense about anything and everything. It really hadn’t been necessary for her to react like that. Whatever, what’s a morning without a face-palm moment for her anyway?

 

* * *

  

When the phone beeped with the line cutting off Matt found himself gripping it angrily. Angry at himself of course. The last time he had spoken to her as him – Matt – she had been unusually open, comfortable. Almost like she was with Daredevil. And he had just messed that up. She had lied, she had said it was fine that he hadn’t been there and she hadn’t meant it. She was upset with him – with Matt, even though she had been fine with Daredevil last night.

This dual persona thing was starting to mess with his head. There weren’t a lot of people that he interacted with as both Matt and the Devil – Fisk had been one, then there was Mahoney, but with both he was either the vigilante or the lawyer. Professional in either line of work. With Salma, at some point along the way, both worlds had become personal. For whatever reason, he really hadn’t seen that coming.

A light knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It opened and Karen slipped her head in.

“Hey, you got a minute? I want to talk to you about Hanson.”

“Sure,” he paused, “but call Foggy too.”

“You sure?” She asked surprised.

“Yeah, he’ll want to hear this as well, trust me.” They still hadn’t spoken about last night. Usually Foggy would demand an explanation from him straight after anything crazy happened, but this time they were both still processing.

In a minute Karen was back with him, they both took the seats across from Matt and suddenly everything felt far too business-like for their little office. He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Well, um…”

“You said you had something on Hanson?” Matt prompted.

“Yeah, yeah I do. He’s got something on tonight, invite-only. An address in Port Ivory.” She regained her confidence as she spoke.

Foggy was frowning, “We could tip the local police, see if they find anything.”

“Really Foggy?” He couldn’t help himself. “You want to go straight to law enforcement on this?”

His friend was silent, and Karen was glancing between them in confusion.

“No.” He finally agreed quietly.

“Since when?” Karen demanded in disbelief.

Foggy didn’t respond, he wasn’t looking at either of them. 

Matt eventually relented, “Habeas corpus.” 

“What?” She wasn’t following, but he hadn’t explained yet. 

“It’s the legal right to be brought before a judge or court in case of unlawful detention. It protects people from being held without actual charges. Without evidence to back an arrest. ” 

“Um, ok. So…that’s a good thing then. What about it?” 

“It doesn’t apply to everyone.” Foggy’s voice surprised them both. Matt couldn’t help but feel bad for him, and somewhat guilty, like he’d accidentally told a kid Santa Claus wasn’t real. 

“Who does it not apply to?” 

“Suspects of terrorism.” 

Karen didn’t say anything. They couldn’t technically tell her about last night but they could at least let her piece enough of it together. 

“I see.” She finally said. “So what now?” 

“We find another way to get information tonight.” Matt already knew how he would go about it. 

Out of nowhere, Foggy contributed, “Brett knows Daredevil.” The astonishment must have been plain on Matt’s face for a whole second. 

“He does? You think he’d help us?” Karen was far more excited at this revelation than he was. Although…this was one less lie he had to tell her. Foggy was doing him a favour. 

“I think he might.” Foggy answered, eyes fixed away from Matt. 

“Good,” Matt said. “Then that’s settled.”

 

* * *

  

He never strayed from Hell’s Kitchen as Dardevil, let alone Manhattan. But there was an endgame here, and it was to keep his neighbourhood safe, and this was still about his city. So Staten Island was his destination. 

Matt left straight after work, and without the vigilante getup of course, it probably wouldn’t go down well on the ferry. He was curious about being on a boat, having never had the occasion to get on one before, at least not one that actually left a port. He regretted it almost instantly. It wasn’t that he got seasick but there was something about being surrounded by water that messed with his senses, the unfamiliar sounds were distracting, and the fish heartbeats took him a while to identify as actual heartbeats. 

By the time he’d reached the location Karen had provided, he had regained his composure – and his outfit. He was on the roof of a house in a residential area, nothing like Manhattan. The meeting had already started. Once he tuned in to the conversation, his fists clenched and his breathing became rapid at what he heard in the next hour. 

_Recruitment’s gone sky high…Everything’s in place for Friday…_ _There’s enough to take down two blocks…Let ‘em burn…._  

This was a logistics meeting for an attack. It was the Mosque that Salma and the kids went to.

His body tensed as one of the attendees left early, a particularly vocal one. Matt needed to know where those weapons were, the police wouldn’t have anything if they broke up a random private meeting, but they could at least confiscate the masses of accelerants they were keeping somewhere. All he needed now was directions.

 

* * *

  

Isa was really starting to get the hang of braille in Arabic.

“If the letter has a similar sound in English then the dots in the cell are usually the same,” he explained to Hamza as they sat together on the couch. 

“Like r, it’s three dots on the left, and the middle one on the right. And in Arabic, ra is the same.” 

“What about the ones that don’t have the same sound in English?” His older brother asked. From further away, the tap was running as Salma washed the dishes.

“Those are more difficult,” he frowned. “For ‘ain, the letter is actually written the same way you’d write ‘of’ in English, and I confuse it with ‘taw’, which looks like ‘with’. Or…it might be the other way round.” 

“Looks like you’ve figured out most of it though,” Hamza was flipping through one of the books, he must have taken it from the table. 

“Mostly,” he nodded. “I think I can teach Matt soon.” He was excited to start, it would be nice to have something to show him how to do for a change. 

“You sure he’d want to read Arabic?” His brother sounded distracted while he flipped through his book.

“Why not?” The water had stopped. The dishes were lightly clanging against each other, Salma was probably arranging them. 

“Well…I dunno. Why would he?” Hamza was putting the book back on the table. 

Isa didn’t have an answer so he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t considered that maybe Matt wouldn’t be interested. 

“Hey you know what, I’m sure he’d like to learn it anyway. It’s fun knowing new things.” His brother had that tone like when he spoke to the kid trio. But he was being nice. 

“Who’d like to learn what?” Salma’s voice got a bit louder as she walked slowly in from the kitchen. Imane had left her toy car out yesterday and Salma hurt her ankle. She stroked his hair back from his forehead as she passed to sit on his other side. Her fingers felt different on his skin, stiffer than usual. 

“Matt,” Isa answered. “I wanna teach him Arabic braille.” 

“Oh,” she sounded weird. Maybe she didn’t think he’d be interested either. “That’s a good idea, he sounded pretty impressed when you told him about it.” That was genuine, he was sure of it. 

“And he’s been teaching you a lot too so this would be nice.” She always understood him. 

“Yeah he has,” he nodded enthusiastically, “like how to see better even without my eyes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah he’s really _really_ good at it. I can’t hear as much as he can but I can concentrate on sounds better than before.” 

“That’s cool.” Hamza was stretching and muffled a yawn behind his hand. “Hey I think I’m gonna call it a night.” He never really went straight to bed even when he was that tired, Isa could usually hear him clicking the mouse pad on his laptop even while he yawned in his room. Salma and Isa let him go anyway. 

“You were saying? About hearing?” The sofa moved under him as she moved her feet up to hold her knees and lean on him. 

“I don’t really know how he does it but he knows everything that’s around him. Even if it doesn’t make a sound.”

“What d’you mean?” She sounded more curious now, but he wasn’t sure how to explain. “Was this something he told you?”

“No, it’s more like…a feeling. He’s never surprised by anything, people who come up or things that are in the way. He talks like he didn’t know they were there but he doesn’t…he doesn’t sound like…” 

“Like he’s telling the truth?” She was still curious but sounded more serious than before. 

“It’s not that he’s lying…I don’t think. I don’t really know. But I’m gonna get as good as him some day, and then I can be a lawyer too.” 

“Since when did you want to be a lawyer?” She nudged him affectionately. 

Isa shrugged, it seemed cool when Matt talked about it. 

“I want to help people.” 

“And Matt…he does help people doesn’t he…” It sounded like she was talking more to herself. 

“Yeah, he says that’s what the law is for, but that sometimes…” 

“Sometimes what?” She sounded really confused now. 

“Sometimes it’s not enough.” He said as he shook his head so his hair fell back in place.

“He said that? Matt said that sometimes the law isn’t enough?” Salma sounded really weird now, he wasn’t sure if he had said something he shouldn’t have. Usually she was much easier to read.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t taken long for Matt to get a location. Bigots really weren’t all that tough when it came down to it. Conveniently, the stores were in Hell’s Kitchen, it was a relief to Matt since he hadn’t been looking forward to getting friendly with a new police force. 

He’d tipped Mahoney over the phone as soon as he got the addresses, since it would be at least forty minutes back in the cab he got, which in any case was still faster than the ferry. Even if it wasn’t, he figured he’d choose land over sea anyway. 

Matt leaned back in his seat and cast his thoughts over the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t spoken to Hamza since the boy had called him. Not that he knew what he could say, as far as their family was concerned, it was Foggy who had showed up, and Foggy who had had the good sense to call Brett. Even if Salma at least thought Daredevil had come to help, he hadn’t exactly done anything for her there either. Barging in with a mask to rescue her would have gotten her in much worse trouble with the law. So instead, he got to be the gentleman that had walked her home as she limped, freezing, with a sprained ankle, no shoes, sore wrists and partially immobilized fingers. There hadn’t been a single thing he could do for her, and there was a guy lying unconscious on a street in Port Ivory that might have felt the brunt of that frustration. 

His fist clenched instinctively when he suddenly realised that he was gripping at something, he had taken out his phone. He let his fingers hover over the keypad, he could check in again couldn’t he? Was it too soon since this morning? Or would it help fix things if she knew he was concerned. Or…would it be easier if he just dropped by tonight as Daredevil? 

Shaking his head at himself, he returned the phone to his pocket. Salma had just had a nightmare of a week, and she was the kind of person that needed space to recover from something like that. That much he hadn’t taken long to learn about her. 

All those afternoons in her kitchen she seemed like the kind of adult that kids assume everyone grows up to become. The one that doesn’t need anyone’s help, that gets everything done and gets it all done right. And there’s never anything false about that in her, no pretence, it’s who she is and who she’s had to be for her family. And with Daredevil…she spoke about her mistakes with the same accepted self-loathing that he of all people could relate to. No one had ever talked him out of it, so how could he expect to do that for her?

 

* * *

  

There were alarm bells ringing in Salma’s head and she was struggling to figure out why. 

“Yeah…” Isa sounded confused as he answered her. Of course he would, she was probing him for no apparent reason. 

It was weird though, not two days ago the very same lawyer had told her that he thought the law set the only moral standard to abide by. Isa hadn’t even seen him since that conversation, so this wasn’t a new philosophy for Matt. This was something he’d already talked about with her little brother. 

What was even stranger was the throwback she’d had to that conversation just last night, with someone completely different. 

_How different?_ Said the voice in her head. 

The familiarity of Daredevil’s voice suddenly hit her with the force of a tidal wave. 

“Isa…” she said slowly, “Have you heard about Daredevil?” 

“The guy who saves people at night.” He nodded.

“Yeah…has Matt ever mentioned him?”

The little boys brows furrowed in thought, they’ve spent so much time together in such a short space of time that some of their conversations must be a blur.

“Yeah,” he nodded again. “We talked about the police once, and how they’re there to save people. But sometimes they can’t. So there are people like Daredevil.”

“And Matt…” Her tone was still cautious, “he thinks it’s right? What Daredevil does?” 

Her brother looked almost offended at the question. “Of course.” His eyes crinkled again in confusion, “He’s a good person.” He was asking a question, why would she be unsure as to whether someone as morally upright as Matt Murdock would approve of the actions of a local hero. It didn’t make sense to him.

Something definitely didn’t make sense to her either. Matt was blind. 

_How to see better even without my eyes_. That’s what Isa had said. He didn’t mean _really_ see, right?

This was crazy. She had been through a rough week, and her head was in a weird space. There was no way the voice in the back of mind was in any way coming from a place of logic or reason.

Matt Murdock was a blind lawyer with conflicting opinions on life. Daredevil was some kind of a ninja vigilante with a pretty solid moral compass. They were Two. Different. People.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ra = ر (Arabic letter)  
> ‘ain = ع (Arabic letter)  
> taw = ط (Arabic letter)
> 
> If anyone’s wondering I’d estimate that this is about a third of the way through the plot. I’ll be back with more in a bit :)


	10. “Maybe you’re special too”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with more! So I've tentatively added a final chapter count, mostly to remind myself that I've got an ending for this and I know where it's going. Hope you guys enjoy!

“You’re not gonna like this.” Foggy had showed up at Matt’s door on Saturday with breakfast and coffee, which had been awaited patiently as the scent travelled from as far as the building entrance.

“When do I not like bagels?” Matt grinned as he sidestepped to let his friend in. 

“It’s in the news, but there’s a cover story.” 

That wiped the smile from his face. 

“What do you mean?” 

Foggy made his way inside to dump the food on the counter before turning to answer. 

“Last night’s bust is there, weapons and stuff, but nothing about a planned attack. It’s just a small piece, something about raiding a gang-owned building.” He ran his hands nervously though his hair as he anticipated Matt’s reaction. 

“What gang? I _told_ Mahoney where I got the information, he knew exactly what it was for.” Matt was gritting his teeth in frustration as he realised he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Daredevil’s word isn’t exactly evidence-” 

“You know that’s not the reason.” Matt cut him off immediately. 

Foggy relented, “Yeah. I know.” 

The two were quiet, standing across from each other in the large room as they gave themselves the time to process. 

“Karen’s gonna be pissed too,” Foggy finally said. 

He was right, the three of them were working hard to present this group to the public for what it really was, and their one big shot had fallen flat. 

“There’ll be more. We’ll get them then.” They had to, he knew it wasn’t over and he knew he couldn’t afford to get complacent. One bust was never going to be enough. 

“Until then,” Foggy said holding out a coffee cheerfully. 

Matt couldn’t help but relax, his shoulders dropping as he realised how tense he had just been. He had to constantly remind himself to embrace this part of his life. The part that stopped him from losing his head to the world’s injustices i.e. his overly-upbeat shaggy haired friend and the distractions he brought.

He could read the grin on Foggy’s face when he took the cup, it was a small victory to get him to concede to temporarily drop a conversation like this, it oddly reminded him of the Sunday afternoons he spent drinking coffee in a small kitchen without the stresses of a lawyer or vigilante. 

“So you wanna tell me what the deal is with this girl?” 

Startled by the question, Matt blinked in the direction of the counter. 

“What girl?” Foggy was usually way off in reading Matt’s thoughts. 

His friend sighed in response. “Stubborn, almost as much as you…deals well with stress, great with kids, not big on lawyers but likes vigilantes, _very_ pretty.” 

“Is she?” Matt asked, suddenly curious, backing up towards his couch. 

“So you _do_ know who I’m talking about.” There was a knowing tone to Foggy’s voice that made Matt turn to hide the flush on his face. 

“What about her?” He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear the answer to that. 

“What’s going on with you two?” His friend caught up with him and the two sat opposite each other in his living room. 

“Nothing.” He said it too quickly, hand moving to rest casually on the arm rest. 

Foggy hummed disbelievingly, sitting across from him interrogation-style. “Nothing,” he repeated back. 

“Hey, you were there that night when we went to ask her about the bombing. She barely acknowledged me. We talk because of Isa, that’s it.” A part of him resented that what he was saying might be true, the other part reminded him that she wasn’t always that way with him. 

“True…but I wasn’t there when you went back as Daredevil.” Foggy leaned forward. He was good, after all, he _was_ a lawyer. 

Matt rested his head back so his sightless eyes were gazing up at the ceiling. Foggy was forcing him to have a conversation that so far had only happened in his head. 

“I don’t know.” He admitted somewhat reluctantly. One hand still holding a full cup of coffee. 

“Well that’s new,” his friend sounded strangely impressed as he sat back triumphantly. 

“What is?” Seriously, sometimes he thought he’d take mind-reading over super senses. 

“You, not being sure if a girl likes you back. It’s kind of adorable.” Foggy was actually chuckling. 

“I never said that!” His gaze fell back near his friend. He was getting defensive, _why_ was he getting defensive? 

“Er, yeah you basically did.” He sounded far too smug for Matt’s liking. “And as your friend I’d reassure you and everything but honestly I have no idea either, that woman seems impossible to read. A total wall -”

“She’s not.” Matt surprised himself at his interruption. 

Foggy had his eyebrows raised. “If you say so buddy. I guess she did seem disappointed when it was me at their place and not you, so that’s something.” 

“She’s just not comfortable with strangers, and she barely knows you.” He was speaking quickly again, as if speed could mask any trace of emotion in his voice. 

“Right…so I guess she knows _you_ pretty well though…seeing as you hang out with her every week…”

“I hang out with the kid.” _Why_ was he still sounding defensive? He forced a sip of his coffee to stop himself from saying something else that made him sound guilty of whatever it was he was being accused of right now.

“And her, every week. Which you failed to mention before by the way. Not that sharing details is one of your fortes…” So Foggy did have something to accuse him of, but this wasn’t a court case, no, it was just him being teased. 

“So you and Hamza are buddies now?” Matt sounded childishly grouchy about that. In his defence, it had taken a while for that kid to warm up to him. Extreme circumstances in fact. 

“I like him, the kids too. And they talk about their sister like she’s sent straight from heaven…Poetic don’t you think?” 

Foggy didn’t have to say it, man he was good. The angel and the devil, yes it had crossed his mind before. And it was the exact reason he needed to shut this conversation down both out loud and in his head. 

Sighing Matt said with a forced decisiveness, “It’s not like that with her ok?” 

Foggy was shaking his head, “I’m sorry Matthew but that is _not_ what it sounds like. And look, you running around her as two different people is probably confusing her as much as it is you. Did you ever stop to consider that?”

He hadn’t actually, and his silence was enough of a response. 

“Is she really?” Matt suddenly asked again. 

Foggy huffed in irritation, “You know they always are with you.” 

Once again, Matt couldn’t help the grin on his face.

 

* * *

  

“Checkmate.” Hamza moved his queen triumphantly across from her king. She should have killed her halfway through the game but had been completely oblivious to the opportunity. 

Salma bowed her head towards her crossed legs in a scene of defeat. 

“And the student surpasses the master.” Holding her hand to her heart she looked up at her teenage brother with pride in her eyes, sniffing to add to the theatrics. 

“You were distracted, off your game.” Though his tone was modest, his smile was smug enough as he moved the board to the side of her bed. 

“There was a time I could have beaten you with my eyes closed,” she ruffled his hair teasingly as he ducked away, grabbing a pillow to protect himself. “Although, that’s really not saying much considering how good Isa is at this.” 

“That kid,” Hamza started, coming out from under the pillow, “is scary smart.” 

“Agreed.” She nodded, eyes wandering to her slightly ajar bedroom door. Isa was with the kid trio in the living room, they were watching Mulan. It was a Disney movie she approved of and plus it got points for the soundtrack. They were on the part where she was trying to make up a name, even from over here it made Salma chuckle. 

“Does it hurt?” Hamza’s voice was quiet but it still surprised her. She hadn’t even noticed that she was running her fingers over the red lines on her wrist. 

“Not anymore.” Her gaze was fixed on her lime green sheets, avoiding eye contact like a child caught in a lie. She wasn’t really lying, just dodging further questions that would warrant some mistruths. 

“You couldn’t hold stuff yesterday.” Her brother was still speaking gently, like he was giving her the option to say she didn’t want to talk about it. She felt a stab of guilt at his comment, it was a small thing that he had noticed but of course he had, sometimes she didn’t give him enough credit. 

“Yeah,” she finally looked up, her dark eyes finding solace in his. “My hands were weird after, I don’t really know why. But today it’s ok. Really.” Her smile was genuine, and it said ‘I’m not going to pretend for you’, and he got that. 

Hamza nodded in appreciation before stilling with another question in his head. 

“Will they be back?” It was impassive, like he was asking for the sake of being mentally prepared and nothing else. But she could read him like a book.

“I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean it’s all over yet.” She needed him to know that she wasn’t going to sugar coat this for him, they’d both been through too much together. 

“I know.” He spoke gravely and something about it sparked concern in her. She tilted her head in a question. 

It was his turn to avoid eye contact. “Yesterday…some of the guys were talking…” 

“What guys?” Alarm bells were ringing but an alarm for what exactly? 

“At the Mosque, the other boys.” He was sliding his hand through his curls nervously. She had a sinking feeling of where this was going. 

“Are they going to do something stupid?” It was matter-of-fact question and it demanded an equally straightforward answer. 

“I don’t think so?” Hamza inserted the question mark into his answer almost apologetically. “They’re just upset. A lot of people shout stuff in the streets and they don’t know how to deal with it. It really sounded like just talk, and usually they listen to me you know but…” 

“But?” 

“I don’t think it was really coming from them.” He spoke uncertainly but as if he’d been thinking about this a lot. 

“You think someone’s been talking them into something?” Her mind was jumping to the kind of stereotyped storylines she saw on TV. 

Her brother shrugged wearily. She knew the feeling. Some things were just too exhausting to think about. Tucking her hair behind her ear she spoke cautiously. 

“Hey, even if it was just talk-” 

“Yeah I spoke to the Imam, he said he’d talk to them.” 

She knew he’d have been responsible about it, didn’t hurt to check though. Still, he didn’t seem as relaxed as she did. 

“Oy,” she prodded him lightly on the shoulder. “This won’t be like last time ok. It’s different-” 

“Yeah it is,” He stated insistently. “You got arrested by the _CIA_.” 

“And it didn’t even last a night.” Was she being comforting? There _was_ something she could say… “And anyway, have you forgotten that our little brother is now BFFs with a couple of lawyers?” She had to force the last word out. Matt is a lawyer, she told herself. That’s it, just a lawyer.

“Yeah I guess,” Her brother sighed back to lie at the foot of her bed, staring absently at the ceiling. “But legal stuff aside…I was thinking…” 

“No way.” Salma spoke in mock astonishment. 

“Ha ha.” His lack of amusement didn’t stop the grin on her own face. Life was about the little things.

“I was thinking,” He repeated more firmly. “I want to learn to fight.” 

“Fight.” She repeated blankly. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded at the corny fluorescent stars she had to keep her company at night. 

“Fight.” She repeated again. “As in…float like a butterfly?” 

It was a joke but apparently Hamza missed that. “Boxing would be good yeah.” 

She blinked at him. This was because he got beaten up. That made sense, he was being logical, she was the one being weird. He finally glanced over to catch her expression of mild confusion. 

Huffing he said, “I don’t need to go professional, I just wanna be able to, you know, hold my own.” It struck her then how young he looked against her friendly bedspread, face still vaguely discoloured from only two days ago. But being young didn’t make him a kid. He was right. 

_Let’s - get down - to business_. 

Oh wasn’t life full of amusing coincidences. 

_To defeat. The Huns._

“I think that’s a sign,” She whispered dramatically to him. 

Her brother rolled his eyes at her even as he smirked. A teenage eye-roll, didn’t she get parent points for that?

 

* * *

 

Matt held his knuckle tentatively up in front of the window. He was clad in his usual night-wear, standing on a fire escape he’d visited only once before.

The slow breathing of four young children was oddly comforting to hear, asleep and untroubled, the state in which toddlers are most appreciated. There were sounds coming from the kitchen, but it seemed to just be Hamza making himself a coffee. No, it was hot chocolate. And there was definitely cinnamon involved. Probably got that from his sister. 

She was in her own room, on the other side of the window and its heavy curtain. For a moment, Matt assumed she was already asleep. Her breathing was deep and steady, no trace of motion, but she was sitting cross-legged on the floor against her bed, arms tucked under her, and actually, she wasn’t completely still. Her lips were just barely moving, like she was talking to herself, but without even making a sound. Maybe she meditated too? 

It didn’t seem right to interrupt but Matt didn’t have all night to sit outside her room, so he rapped lightly against the glass, holding his breath for her not to panic. 

Inside, she jerked upright and her heartbeat immediately began to race. 

“It’s me,” he spoke hoarsely, hoping both to disguise his voice, and raise it loud enough to be comprehensible through the glass. 

Her posture relaxed even though her pulse didn’t. She was still for a few seconds before getting up and pulling her hair into a bun. Her hand hovered over a scarf crumpled on her desk for a moment that suggested hesitation – strange – but she took it and wrapped it as quickly as she always did. Padding slowly to the window – her ankle was still sprained - she hesitated again before drawing back her curtain. 

Matt had stepped back already so he’d be mostly in the shadow when she slid the window up. Even though he was the one showing up at her place, he waited for her to say something, anything to give him an idea of how he was being received tonight. 

“You know, most people prefer to use the door.” Her tone was dry but not unfriendly. It was a good start. 

“I didn’t want to raise any eyebrows.” 

“I guess you’re a couple weeks late,” she crossed her arms casually. “You could have come on Halloween.” 

That at least was confirmation that she was in a good mood. 

“I actually prefer to stay in that night.” 

“Afraid you might stand out?” She was nodding as if in understanding and her sarcasm brought a grin to his face. 

“The opposite actually. I’d hate to not feel special.”

Finally she laughed, leaning her shoulder against the wall. “Typical men.”

“Now don’t go stereotyping us.” He adopted her teasing tone as he rested back against the railing. 

“Hey, raising boys is my specialty. Don’t question the expert.”

He held his hands up in acquiescence and she breathed smugly into the cold air. 

Matt returned his hands to the railing behind him and distracted himself with the low sound of the metal against his nails. The exchange had been fun but it then left them with a semi-awkward silence as he struggled to vocalise what he came to say, if he had even had anything specific in mind. Salma’s folded arms tightened as the quiet moment stretched into something longer. 

Maybe just start simple. 

“So how are you?” He was an idiot. 

She was nice enough to not point that out. “Ok. Still alive, not in jail…so yeah, I’m ok.” 

“Right. Good.” How had this gone downhill so quickly? “And the kids?” 

“Kids?” It was a single word but it came out sounding almost icy. 

Had she never mentioned the kids to Daredevil before? 

“You said you had boys.” He remembered suddenly, mentally kicking himself for the slip-up. 

“Oh,” she didn’t sound thoroughly reassured. “Yeah, my brothers. They’re fine.” 

He nodded stupidly. 

“Was that it?” There it was, the sudden wall of suspicion that he kept accidentally eliciting. Usually it would inspire him to back off but the cycle was getting frustrating, maybe for once he shouldn’t humour it. 

“Look…” He let his shoulders droop into a sigh, “I’m just trying to-” 

“Help, right? You did. Once. And I was grateful. But do you go around checking in on everyone you _help_?” It was a fair question and Matt might have been able to think of a reasonable response, but he didn’t. 

“Maybe you’re special too.” 

“Maybe there’s somewhere else you should be right now.”

The reply came at him without a moment’s hesitation, she was clearly not in the mood to humour anyone either.

 

*  

 

Salma had spent the last twenty four hours desperately not wanting her sudden theory to be true, but right now, standing across from the man in the mask who spoke to her like he knew her, things were starting to piece together in a way that was not comforting. 

She knew what she had said had come off as incredibly rude but a) It was probably true, at this time in any neighbourhood there would be crime that needed stopping and b) _Special_ her foot, more like ‘the truth would expose me as the con man I am so I’m going to be charmingly evasive instead’. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He at least sounded genuinely apologetic. 

Her nod to accept the apology was curt but it was all the acknowledgement she was offering. 

“Seriously though don’t you have people to save and stuff?” Reining in on the accusing tone, she was just being civil. 

“Yeah. Right.” He sounded disappointed. The vigilante dressed in black with a mask over his eyes standing on her fire escape late at night was being told to go keep up the good work and he sounded disappointed. What had her life become? 

“Well then,” she stated decisively when it was clear that he wasn’t going to be the first to say goodnight. “Happy vigilante-ing.” She rested her hands on the base of her open window so he’d take the hint and let her close it. It wasn’t even a hint, she was basically telling him to leave. 

And he did. Just like that. He might have nodded first but then he just kind of dropped himself over her railing like last time and was gone. Shaking her head at her now empty fire escape, she shut her window, latched it, and drew back the curtain so she was mostly in darkness again. Her room light hadn’t been on when he’d showed up, and with the nagging thought at the back of her mind that maybe he didn’t need the light, she had decided not to switch it on. She could only make out his silhouette with the backing of distant streetlights, and all he had to see her with was a ceiling of glow-in-the-dark stars but it hadn’t seemed to impede their conversation at all. One would almost think that he hadn’t noticed. 

She frowned as she pulled the scarf off in irritation at how vague she was being with her own thoughts. Her baby hairs flew forward in a static-inspired mess over her forehead. Not caring to straighten any of it back, she tugged off her hair tie before face planting across her bed. 

At least tomorrow was Sunday. There’d be time enough to freak out in the morning. Sunday…Matt was coming this Sunday.

A muffled groan found itself released into her quilt.


	11. “I was trying to help”

Matt stepped out of the elevator and immediately felt that something was off. The apartment to his left was empty, no movement and no sound. She had said to pick up Isa from their place, and it wasn’t like her to forget. 

A sudden squeal caught his attention and he breathed a sigh of relief. Imane sounded highly entertained by something…in their neighbour’s flat? 

Cane in one hand, he walked straight to the door on his right and stopped outside, tilting his head in concentration. Both Mr and Mrs Morales were in, the former sat in front of the TV with…one of the twins, Riyad. Rayan was close by, sat with the youngest of the bunch and playing with marbles on the floor, each giggling as the other sent one closer and closer to the older man’s feet. In the kitchen, Isa was being taught how to separate eggs by keeping the yolk in the shell, and he was doing a surprisingly good job at it. Matt focussed more attention onto the little boy, he was moving his hands carefully so he could gauge the weight in each half of the egg once he cracked it, and once he knew which side had the yolk, he would tip it only slightly while he could completely empty the other one out. 

The proud smile on Matt’s face was suddenly disrupted by his realisation that the older two siblings weren’t in. He knocked quickly and waited as the woman inside grabbed a cloth to wipe her hands as she made her way to the door. 

“Mr Murdock, you’re as punctual as always.” The lady greeted him warmly as she stepped aside for him. “Isa’s ready to go but would you like to come in for a drink first?” 

“That’s very kind of you Mrs Morales but there’s no need. I didn’t actually realise he’d be here this morning, no one was answering the door so I thought I’d check here.” 

“Oh! They must have forgotten to tell you, Salma and Hamza left early, not sure where but she said you’d be in to take Isa out.” The boy in question had sidled up beside her as she spoke. 

“Hi Matt!” His tone was as bright as always and it warmed Matt to hear it. 

“Hi Isa, ready to go?” He tried to return the high spirits amid his disappointment. She might have at least mentioned to him to pick up Isa from her neighbour. Maybe she really had just forgotten. 

“Yep,” Isa answered as he stepped out and reached to clasp Matt’s hand with his own. 

“Oh Salma also asked if you could have him home a couple of hours earlier today.” Mrs Morales said distractedly as she turned her head in reaction to the small commotion behind her. Rayan’s arm was stuck under the TV stand…the poor kid was only inches from his marble.

“Will she be back by then?” He had spent the last two days telling himself that at least Sunday afternoon coffee was his chance to redeem himself for his absence during the arrest. Well, his absence as Matt anyway.

“I don’t think so,” she was in a hurry to get back in now, even though Mr Morales had immediately fished Rayan out and had begun efforts to comfort the crying boy. “She said they might be out till evening.” 

“Oh, ok.” He couldn’t just come back then could he? Not if this was her avoiding him. And she wasn’t even getting along with his alter ego at the moment so this was just great. 

“Well you two have a good time then.” In her haste Mrs Morales was oblivious to Matt’s poorly disguised disappointment, and simply shut the door with a friendly wave before frowning at herself for having just waved at two blind people. 

It took a moment before Matt realised that he was still standing in front of a closed door without any indication of moving. Isa’s hand squeezed his and the voice to his left said, “Don’t worry, you’ll see her on Thursday remember. It’s our special dinner.” 

Of course, before the crazy CIA night he had been invited for next week’s neighbours-only event. He still needed to mention it to Foggy. 

Figures that Isa would know what to say to him, he really was one smart kid, and so there was not point pretending with him. Matt squeezed his hand back in response and he knew the boy understood. 

“Alright, let’s go do something fun.”

 

* * *

 

“I feel stupid.” Salma was stood at the entrance to their local boxing gym, the one woman in a room of tough looking guys in tank tops – or less. 

“I told you I could come by myself.” Her brother murmured beside her sounding typically disgruntled. Teenagers. 

“You’re still fifteen ok, you don’t get to explore dodgy New York gyms by yourself just yet.” She said back in an equally low voice, fists clenched nervously in her coat pockets despite her assertive tone. 

He huffed but didn’t say anything. She didn’t pull the parent-card much with him so when it happened he was usually pretty good about it. 

“Well…” She said still under her breath, “at least they’re not staring.” Sarcasm was one way she could comfort herself in awkward situations. 

Hamza finally seemed to feel some sympathy at her unique discomfort, “Hey, it’s not like a Muslim at a boxing ring is so crazy.” He nudged her with a tone laced with forced encouragement. 

“Yeah,” she muttered. “If you’re black and a dude then sure.” 

At that, her brother shrugged with a weak smile. 

“At least I didn’t wear anything floral.” That, she said quietly enough that even Hamza didn’t hear her. She appreciated it to no end that unlike a classic teenager he was never embarrassed by her, even when she played the mum-role in public like today. Still, it was important that she didn’t do anything to push that. 

“Can I help you folks?” The gruff voice startled her and she immediately shifted her attention from the grime on some of the equipment to the buff Latino man who had come up to them. It wasn’t a threatening question, in fact he looked like maybe he worked there? 

“Yeah, yes. Hi.” Great, wasn’t it shaping up to be a good day? 

“Hi,” Her brother cut in. “We were wondering about beginner boxing lessons.”

The man nodded, “Private?” 

“Er no, normal? Normal’s fine.” Hamza really could be as awkward as her sometimes, at least she could put it down to genes and not her being socially incompetent. 

“Mixed?” 

There were two guys who had just gotten in the ring and at the first hit Salma already flinched. It was then that she realised the question was directed at her. 

“Oh, no. I’m not – no this is just for him.”

The man just looked at her in response and she defaulted to the thought – did I say something stupid? 

“We do self-defence classes for women as well.” He was still just looking at her. Like he knew something she didn’t. 

“Oh, um. Cool, but…no thanks.” She tried to smile but it was probably more of a grimace. 

Thankfully the man didn’t react to it past a nod, then turned to talk straight to Hamza again. 

“Ok well we have a group of boys about your age at 4 on Mondays and Wednesdays.” And he started walking in the direction of a desk and shelving in the corner, signalling for Hamza to follow. 

Salma trailed behind them a little, concentrating mostly on hiding her limp. The man was asking Hamza about his background in sport and familiarity with boxing. She could pop back into the conversation when he brought up the price. 

To avoid risking eye contact with any of the intimidating looking guys in the room, she kept her gaze fixed on the walls she was walking past. There were a few posters and flyers, nothing she could stand by to stare at for more than a few seconds without feeling stupid. Spotting what looked like an honours board, she internally rejoiced at the long list of names she could pretend to be interested in for at least five whole minutes. 

Johnson…Goode…Jones…Brown…Price…Kennedy…Murdock. Murdock? 

Jack Murdock 1995. 

Matt’s father had died when he was around nine, she didn’t know his exact age but the date seemed to match. He’d never mentioned that his dad was a boxer…but then, Murdock must be a common enough name? 

The image in her head of Daredevil pummelling those guys in the street seemed to float to her focus and her stomach did a tiny but semi-nauseating flip. 

It hadn’t been the most subtle move to avoid him today, but the thought of facing Matt after last night’s conversation with Daredevil had just been too much. She hadn’t even left him a message that she was leaving the kids with Lorena but surely he’d figure that out. In whatever way that he figured things out. 

“So what do you think?” Hamza stepped up beside her and handed her a brochure. 

She glanced down absently and waited a minute before the number she assumed to be the price processed in her head. Affordable, that was good. 

“Yeah, it works. You wanna do this?” She turned to see a pair of shining eyes looking back in contained excitement. The same look he’d had when they’d first watched Star Wars together. 

“Yeah,” he replied. Eyes smiling more than his lips. Because teenagers had to be cool. 

The man who had talked to him showed up as well, the question on his face instead of, well, vocalised. 

“So do I need to pay upfront?” She asked, ready to reach into her bag for her wallet. 

“First lesson’s always free, after that it’s on a weekly basis.” 

“Ok great. Thanks.” 

Her brother thanked the man as well and turned to leave but Salma found herself rooted to the spot. The man had noticed and was patiently waiting for her question. 

“Sorry I was just um, I was wondering about-” and she signalled her head to the board of names behind her. 

“All great fighters that started right here at Fogwell’s.” He nodded proudly, “Maybe your brother could be one of them.” 

“Uhuh,” she answered absently. “Um this one,” she gestured to it again. “Jack Murdock.” The man blinked in surprise as the name escaped her lips, but she continued anyway. “Who was he?” 

It was clear he was curious about her interest, but he didn’t come across as the kind of person who would ask too many questions. 

“He was supposed to be one of our best. Won his last fight and they all say it was a good one. Brutal.” 

“That was his last one? In ’95?” Was this prying on her part? 

The man nodded grimly. “Shot that same day.” 

 _Shot_. Lorena hadn’t mentioned that Matt’s father had been murdered. 

“His boy still comes here.” 

“Matt?” It was instinctive, she hadn’t meant to bring him up. 

The man looked surprised again, “You know him?” 

“Um. Not really.” Salma shifted uncomfortably when she realised Hamza was listening. 

“Anyway, thanks.” And with that she hurriedly walked out of the gym, her brother close on her heels and probably with a lot to say once they were out of there.

 

* * *

 

“A woodpecker.” Isa answered confidently. 

“Good.” Matt nodded with encouragement in his voice, and he could tell the little boy’s joy reached as far as his curling toes.

“I’m gonna have to start asking harder questions.” He said it teasingly but he did mean it, and Isa read both those sentiments. 

“Good.” The boy echoed, his face muscles showing a grin plain on his face. 

“But maybe a break for now.” They had been at this for an hour already and only had another fifteen minutes before they needed to start heading back. It made sense that Salma would be stricter with the kids’ time outside the house, things hadn’t quietened down enough just yet. That much he knew all too well. 

“Ok,” Isa nodded, leaning back to rest his head on the grass. 

It was great to monitor how well Isa was learning to train his senses, but sometimes the obvious bliss the boy had in comparison to him was enviable. Like right now he was in his own bubble of peace, yet every passer-by couldn’t hold back some form of surprise to the picture of a blind man and a blind boy sitting together in a park. And Matt didn’t miss a single reaction. 

“Hey Matt.” The child’s voice interrupted his mildly bitter spiral of thoughts. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you go to Church?” 

He blinked, “Yeah. I do.” Isa referenced his own faith every so often but had never asked Matt about his before. He vaguely recalled the way the boy had reacted to the fact that he was Catholic that first night they had met. 

“But…you come see me every Sunday.” Isa had plucked a blade of grass and was sliding it between his fingers as he spoke.

“The Church is always open, even when it’s not Sunday.” Not exactly traditional of him but he didn’t like crowds. 

“Oh. So you go…but not on Sundays?” 

Matt hesitated, it was an innocent question without any agenda, so a simple yes would have sufficed. Strangely, he found himself answering with, “I go when I need to.” 

The two sat in the quiet for a minute. Hamza’s soccer team had their training as usual, they could hear the coach yelling at some kid to stop hogging the ball. 

“When is that?” Isa finally asked, as if he had tried to answer it himself first before confirming with Matt. 

“For confession, or just for advice sometimes.” 

“Confession?” 

Sometimes Matt forgot Isa was only seven. 

“If I’ve done a bad thing, then I go to Church to confess.” 

“To who?” The boy sat up with renewed interest. 

“The priest.” Matt noted the sense of affection he had as he answered. Father Lantom was the only person in his life that understood the moral dilemmas he faced every day, and the only person that knew how to help him deal with it. 

“Then what happens?” Isa sounded like he was asking about a movie plot, it became apparent to Matt then how foreign it must all sound to the kid. 

“Absolution. It’s like…a pardon.” It did sound very Catholic when he said it like that. 

“Forgiveness?” Isa tilted his head as he tried to understand. 

“Exactly.” He should have just said that instead. 

“But how can the priest forgive you?” 

“Well…in the Church, God acts through the priest.” Matt paused, “Does that make sense?”

“Not really.” Isa was shaking his head at the ground, the skin around his eyes still wrinkled as he tried to piece together this new information. 

Matt laughed, he remembered when it hadn’t made sense to him either. 

“When I do something bad,” Isa started, “I just ask God to forgive me.” 

“And how do you know that he will?” It didn’t make sense to push a seven year old for theological answers but Isa seemed confident enough on the topic. 

“I just do.” There was that conviction he so admired in the kid. 

“So you talk to God a lot?” From anyone else the question would have sounded mocking but they both knew how seriously the other took this. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, twisting the blade of grass around his little finger. “All the time.” 

It occurred to Matt then why Salma was always saying something under her breath. She wasn’t talking to herself, she was talking to God. 

“I think we’re supposed to go back now.” Isa sighed in disappointment even as he said it. He had a pretty impressive body clock. 

“Yeah,” Matt responded as he got to his feet, reaching down to take Isa’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to get in your sister’s bad books.” 

“Salma doesn’t have bad books!” The boy sounded almost offended at the idea. “Well, she can get angry sometimes but only if you do something bad on purpose.” 

Matt chuckled, “Well then let’s not be late on purpose.”

Isa agreed and the two took their canes in their free hand so they could start making their way back to the apartment.

 

* * *

 

When Matt made it home that night it was with a light heart and a cheerier than usual disposition. He had never imagined himself as the father figure type but everything with Isa just felt so natural. And it was only a few days before he’d be seeing the whole family again. He still had to invite Foggy. 

On hearing his burner phone ring he reached into his jacket to answer, “Hello?” 

“That’s new.” Came the female voice. 

“What is?” 

“Usually I get a ‘What’s wrong?’.” 

Matt smirked, “Sorry. Hi Claire, what’s wrong?” 

“Plenty, thanks for asking.” Sardonic as always. “But enough about me, I said I’d call about news from the ER.” 

At that, Matt frowned as he hung up his jacket. “The city’s been quiet for a while…” 

“On the news, sure.” 

“Even the streets-” 

“That’s the scary part. This shit’s happening in the day time when you’d think people would care more about what’s socially acceptable. But we’ve had a sudden influx of teenagers coming through with broken noses and worse. Usually beaten up by groups. And that’s just the boys. Girls as young as elementary school are getting assaulted for being black or brown. I don’t think you want the details.” 

Matt momentarily dropped his hand so he could swear under his breath, before raising the phone to his ear again. 

“So it’s getting worse?” 

“Feels like it.” 

There was a silence on both ends as Matt fought to control his frustration. 

“I take it you’re doing better though.” Claire surprised him.

“What?”

“You. You sound better.” 

“Better?” He hadn’t been sick. 

Matt could practically hear her roll her eyes as she responded, “Yeah like, happier. Not totally stressed about the entire world.” 

“Oh.” Matt was taking a minute to process whether or not she had a point. 

“So?” She prompted. 

“So…?” 

Claire sighed and he could hear her rub her eyes tiredly, “Honestly Matt sometimes it’s like talking to a brick wall with you.” 

“Sorry,” he said with a wry smile, genuine in his apology. 

“Yeah well, whatever it is that’s going on with you, don’t stop coz I think you need it.” 

His anticipation for Thursday night resurfaced and he replied confidently, “I won’t. Thanks Claire.” 

“Yeah yeah,” she half muttered, but the affection wasn’t lost on him. 

Matt made it out early that night, intentionally passing by a certain apartment. Lingering just long enough to be sure that everyone was home and safe, also noting that Salma seemed unusually distracted as she put the kids to bed, turning down a request for a story and then proceeding to the kitchen to make herself a hot chocolate…with extra chocolate. She was definitely stressed about something. He just had to wait four more days before he could work things out.

 

* * *

 

“Boys!” Salma scolded distractedly as she spooned the vegetable stew into a serving bowl. The twins were tussling on the kitchen floor even though she had specifically requested them to help prepare the living room. The wooden table usually sat in the corner of the room, piled with a random assortment of objects, except every other Thursday when they needed a make-shift dining table for their guests. She and Hamza had already moved it in place but she needed the kids engaged in some form of straightforward tasks so that they would leave her in peace as she hurried through her own work. 

“Go help your brother with the cutlery.” She instructed as she started on some of the washing-up. The less she had to do after the meal the better. The twins, recognizing her not-so-playful tone, bounded off in a hurry and from the sound of it, continued their scuffle on the couch. Salma shook her head at the pot she was scrubbing but also chose to appreciate the space she now had to herself. Usually she didn’t leave the cooking to be so last minute, preferring to be relaxed and able to enjoy the evenings she had with her family and neighbours, but she had spent the afternoon after work explaining to Rayan’s pre-school teacher that the words he had not so politely shared with a classmate were in fact not French swear words. She had abstained from offering a direct translation, of what had actually been quite a creative insult, but agreed that he needed to be appropriately reprimanded for his behaviour.

The knock on the front door snapped her out of her thoughts, and she surprised herself with the sudden pounding in her chest. Hearing Hamza head to the entrance, she forced deep breaths and returned to her scrubbing, albeit somewhat less efficiently. 

The carry of Lorena’s cheery greeting to the children made her shoulders heave in a sigh of relief. It was just the Morales’ after all. Not a second later, she heard the soft voice she now associated with two faces, followed swiftly by the bubblier blonde lawyer who she owed almost as much as his partner. Salma found herself getting stressed all over again, and put an intense amount of effort into forcing her mind to host-mode. It wasn’t as if she had to rush out, she could use this time at the sink to calm down in the face of the-problem-she-refused-to-name. Although…the pot was definitely clean by now. 

Blinking blankly at the clean surface, her littler sister’s high-pitched voice crying “Matt!” in the distance brought her crashing back to reality. What was she doing? She rinsed off the pot, and with it, the soap on her hands. Grabbing a towel she glared down at the empty sink in frustration at her own state of mind. Salma rolled her sleeves back down and self-consciously shifted the pin clasped under her chin. All she had to do was walk outside and be civil and sociable for an hour or two. Resolving to do just that, she was about to turn around when a voice behind her made her actually jump. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Even with his dark glasses, Matt looked genuinely apologetic. And also…concerned? 

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Salma said, making a conscious effort for every word to come out sounding neutral and dispassionate. It was like he knew though. Maybe he did? Far be it from her to make a judgment on his capabilities. 

Matt opened his mouth to say something, presumably to apologise again, but thankfully Lorena chose that moment to join them in the kitchen. 

“Mija what a sight! You always have to outdo me!” The older woman laughed as she embraced Salma. “These young men say they have never had couscous, imagine it? So I told them they’re lucky, their first experience will be from you and it couldn’t be more perfect, no?” 

Salma laughed out of courtesy even as she eyed Matt in his increasing visible discomfort. “I hope you haven’t set their expectations too high Lorena.” 

“Of course not,” She huffed, oblivious to the tension in the room. Salma herself wasn’t even a hundred percent sure what had caused it. 

“I’m sure you’re as good as we’ve heard.” Matt finally said, a charming smile inviting Lorena’s girlish laughter before she steered them both outside, chattering on as they went. 

Salma couldn’t help sending a suspicious glance Matt’s way after his comment. She realised that there was a time when she would have read his expression to be as agreeable as Lorena interpreted it, but now she recognized how forced it was, suppressing a frustration that showed only behind those glasses that were starting to bother her for some reason. 

On seeing Foggy she momentarily forgot the reason for her nerves, her sincere gratitude for what he had done bringing out the true host in her. She didn’t explicitly thank him or anything, only Hamza – and obviously Matt, knew what had happened just a week ago. But his smiles suggested they were both on the same page, equally happy that they were all ok. 

“The food looks incredible,” he declared as the party took their seats. 

“It always does in this house.” Mr Morales affirmed as he looked around at the spread delightedly. 

“And what about in our house?” Asked his wife beside him, pointed in her comment but with an undertone of mirth. 

“Of course, not as good as in our house mi amor,” he claimed quickly.

Salma raised an eyebrow at him in mock-offence but Mr Morales was too quick-witted for the two women tonight, “Don’t be disheartened my dear,” he said to Salma. “Cooking, like any true art, can only be perfected with time and experience. So you see, you will only get better, and perhaps, one day, reach the quality of my lovely wife.” 

Even the kids laughed as the older man smugly looked around, Foggy nodding to him impressed in his act of self-rescue. Only Matt maintained a polite smile, as he did for much of the evening in fact. 

Foggy appeared to really be enjoying himself, entertaining the kid trio, and even having a friendly discussion with Hamza. That surprised Salma but then, she had never really asked him about how it had been for him that night when she’d been arrested. It seems the two had had time to bond. She herself had been enjoying Mr and Mrs Morales recounting to her tales of their youth, but she was distracted by Isa’s silence as he ate his dinner. He was sat next to Matt, and usually the two had no trouble conversing. Isa had been excited about tonight for a while, so what was up with sudden shyness? 

“Mr Murdock,” Lorena suddenly said, also noticing his reticence tonight. “How are you enjoying our dear Salma’s cooking?” 

“It’s delicious, I’ve never had anything like it.” He smiled. A real one. 

“Thank you,” Salma replied, trying to be gracious. 

“I’ve tried to make it myself but it never quite works out for me!” Lorena shared. “I think there’s something in Salma’s recipe she’s not telling me.” 

It was a joke, and there was nothing in it. The recipe she had given her neighbour was complete and comprehensive, yet she couldn’t help the comment it invited. 

“We all have our secrets Lorena.” Salma smiled but the cutting tone to her voice was clearly not lost on Matt. Or was this her just being really, really paranoid? And since when could she be so snarky? 

Matt said nothing and simply took a sip of his water. Best to just leave it at that, Salma thought. She was getting ahead of herself, inviting a confrontation. That wasn’t what she wanted at all…or was it? The back and forth in her head was infuriating and she tried hard to bite back her frustration as she maintained a healthy dinner conversation with, well her _other_ guests.

 

* * *

 

Matt was at a complete loss. He really hadn’t thought that him not being there that night could have hurt her this much. But it was obvious that her Sunday disappearance had not been a coincidence, she was angry with him and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. That much had been plain since the second they had knocked on the door. If he could just get a chance to talk to her alone then maybe he could fix things. 

As dinner ended, the kids summoned Mr and Mrs Morales over to the couch to engage them in a scrabble session. He didn’t know five year olds played scrabble but he knew by now not to underestimate a Taleb. Foggy was insisting that he help Salma and Hamza clear the table and proceeded to do so, Isa too joined in quietly. Matt felt bad for neglecting him all night, but he had been distracted by the constant signals Salma was giving off that she didn’t want him there. 

Making up his mind, he rose to follow Hamza into the kitchen where the other three already were. Isa was demonstrating to Foggy how he could pick up a fork, spoon or knife by its handle, and tell which it was by its weight. 

Salma had started on the dishes, and as Matt stepped closer, her scrubbing became increasingly more ferocious. 

“Anything I can help with?” He said almost nervously. 

“I think you’ve helped enough, thanks.” She sounded colder than she had all night. Like she could only repress it for so long. Behind him, both Foggy and Hamza seemed to notice the exchange and their heads turned their way even as Isa continued to speak. 

“Salma…” Matt began, not really sure where to start. 

Suddenly she put down the plate she had been holding. “Isa,” her voice was still directed towards the sink. “Why don’t you show Foggy some of your braille sets. You know, the Arabic ones?”

The boy paused with a fork in his hand. “Sure, Matt hasn’t seen them yet either…”

“You can show him too but in a bit ok? He’s just gonna help me with some of this first.” Her hands were clenched around the table ledge, head bent over as she spoke. Everyone in the room recognised the tone of a woman who was giving an order, and not making a request. 

“Ok.” Isa said quietly, before taking Foggy’s hand and leading him into the living room. Foggy glanced nervously in Matt’s direction but said nothing. 

Hamza stood hesitantly by the counter, “D’you need me for any-?” 

“No. Thanks Hamza. Just close the door behind you ok?” She finally looked up over at her brother as she spoke, tone softening automatically the way it did when the two looked at each other to complete half the conversation with their eyes. After a second, he complied and Matt heard the click of the kitchen door shut, leaving the two of them properly alone for the first time without the mask. 

“Salma-” he began again before he was brusquely interrupted, again. 

“Are you even blind?” Her voice was quiet and her head was still turned to where her brother had been standing. She wasn’t even looking at him. 

“What?” This was not what he had expected. 

“Are. You. Blind.” The anger in her voice was wavering between controlled and potentially explosive. 

“I…yes. I am.” It wasn’t a lie. 

He had been so distracted by her question that he hadn’t registered the warning sign, his hand moving only in time to catch the spoon that was flying at his face. 

As his fingers clasped the metal, his mouth just barely opened in a moment of complete shock. She had thrown a spoon at him. And she had proven a point. She knew. 

“I’m going to ask you again.” It was a dangerous calm that dominated her voice. 

“I _am_ blind.” He said more determined this time. Forcing a quick recovery of his surprise and resolving now to come clean. If she already knew then what did it matter? “I just…” 

“See.” She finished for him. Arms crossing as she leaned back against the counter, fixing an interrogation-vibe gaze on him. 

“But not with my eyes.” Matt explained. Well, it was the start of an explanation. He didn’t really know how to follow through so instead he chose to take advantage of Salma’s sudden step back from being on the offensive. “How did you know?” 

“Something Isa said. And you have the same smile.” When Matt tilted his head in a question she said in irritation, “You and Daredevil.” 

Even though at this point he saw that coming, the words still hit him with a wave of…guilt? 

“Look I understand that you’re angry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want to put you in that position. What I do…it’s dangerous for people to know who I am.” 

“You think that’s what this is about?” Her folded arms tightened. “You think I’m pissed that my neighbour’s lawyer didn’t share the dark details of his secret life with me?” 

Whether it was her uncharacteristic language or insinuation that he was still a stranger to her that stung, he couldn’t tell just yet. 

“Then why are y-” 

“Why?” Her voice rose a fraction before regaining control of her volume at a glance to the door. “Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what you’ve done, what you’re doing?” 

He hadn’t thought that his actions as Daredevil had been so unwelcome so this was all very confusing. “I was trying to help you.”

“Me? What about my brother? What about Isa?” Now she really had lost him. He had been nothing but kind to Isa. “You’ve spent over a month taking him under your wing, showing him that he has a future no matter what life’s thrown at him. All of a sudden he wants to be a lawyer, he wants to be _you_ Matt.” Now it was starting to dawn on him what she was getting at. 

“I was trying to help him too.” He said quietly. 

“How exactly? By convincing him of a future he can’t have?” She was close to being at a point where she'd be holding back tears. 

“That’s not true,” He began emphatically. 

“And how would you know? You may be technically blind Matt, if you say you are. But you clearly don’t have a clue what it’s like for him. You have no idea what it would take for him to get where you are.” She didn’t sound angry anymore, she sounded tired and in complete despair. Because of something he had done. “You’re lying to him every time you use whatever…superhero power thing it is you do – and make it off like he could be just like that some day. You’re _lying_ to him and all you’re going to do is hurt him in the end.”

Matt stood still as she threw all this at him. His jaw clenched in a growing sense of familiar self-hate. He had nothing to say in response. No defence. 

“You’re right.” He finally said. That seemed to throw her but it didn’t matter. As he exited the kitchen he noted the faint trace of salt in the air. A tear was forming in her eye and it was his fault.


	12. “Where’s our mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the stress of the last chapter!! I especially enjoyed the range of judgment towards Salma lol.
> 
> I know technically not a lot's happening but I'm trying to keep the chapters coming fairly quickly now so hope you can still enjoy it.

Even with her eyes still closed, Salma’s hand shot out from under her covers to end her six am phone alarm. She sat up sleepily reaching for her lamp switch and swung her legs over to the side of her bed. Friday. Morning prayers. Wake the kids. Breakfast. School. Regular routine for the day before the weekend. So why did she feel so incredibly awful? 

When it hit her she groaned loudly and brought her hands to her face. She could add last night to the list of reasons this year had sucked. How had she let that happen? She had lost her temper, she had let her emotions get the better of her, and she had been downright rude and ungrateful to an actual real-life superhero. 

The memory of Isa confessing his aspiration to be a lawyer had been festering in her mind for almost a week, and she hadn’t let herself react to it that entire time. Instead, making the mistake of trying to process it all in the presence of Matt-Daredevil-Murdock.

He hadn’t even gotten angry back at her. In fact he had looked as guilty as she felt right now. Saying barely anything at the time, and absolutely nothing to her afterwards. Foggy seemed apologetic about that when he had said goodnight to her, but he didn’t know. He didn’t know that she completely deserved it. 

She had basically accused Matt of completely screwing things up for Isa and it was clear that he genuinely cared about her brother. And that he hadn’t seen his actions the way she had. Whatever valid point she had made, the delivery had been unfair and uncalled for. 

What’s more, she had sidestepped – well actually, blatantly refuted the suggestion that she was personally offended by him lying to her. But if she was being honest with herself, that wasn’t really true. 

It had been just over a month since the first time she’d met Matt…and Daredevil – in the space of something like a week. A coincidence, that much she was sure of. But in that time she had maintained Matt at a default distance, and simultaneously let a masked stranger sort of get to know her. It was embarrassing now. Hurtful, and embarrassing. But she had said this wasn’t about her, and she really couldn’t tell how much of it was. 

Salma sighed as she rubbed her face tiredly and brought her hands back down. It was far too early for this much psychoanalysis. Friday. Morning prayers. Wake the kids. Breakfast. School. In two days Matt would be back to see Isa, and she could figure things out then. For now, they could both use the time apart.

 

* * *

 

Matt was sporting a torn and slightly bloodied sleeve as he dropped into the street corner he’d arranged a meeting in. He’d been particularly intense in these last three nights. He usually tried to hold back on a Saturday, not wanting any evidence of his night-job for the people he’d see the next day, but what did it matter now. 

“I see you’ve been hard at work.” The man observed as he walked closer only to stop at a comfortable distance. 

“Sergeant.” Daredevil greeted him. 

Brett nodded back at him. “So what do you have for me?” 

“I’ll be honest, after what you did with my information last time I don’t feel as inclined to share.” His fists clenched even as he spoke, quite satisfied to play the role of intimidation tonight. 

“Look,” Brett began, clearly disarmed by the accusation. “You know that wasn’t on me. With the press there’s only so much I can do. I’m not exactly irreplaceable on the force.” 

“So they don’t let you tell people the truth and you’re fine with that?” 

“My job is to keep people safe. That’s what I did, that’s what I _do_.” Brett was getting passionately defensive and usually Matt would be sympathetic to his plight. But sympathy wasn’t in his repertoire tonight. 

“So you keep people safe by lying to them about who their enemies are. You think that’s smart Sergeant? You think that’s right?” 

Brett clenched his jaw and glared back at the mask. “It’s easy for you isn’t it? The moral compass of Hell’s Kitchen. Coz you do everything right don’t you? You don’t need a rule book, you just play it by ear and bam, fixing other people’s problems left, right and centre. It’s all us simple folk that don’t know how to be. You’re the only one that gets a say in what’s _right_.” 

Matt gritted his teeth as he forced control of his spinning head. He had hit a nerve and Brett had lashed out only to hit one back. 

“Look,” Mahoney continued. “If you don’t trust me that’s cool, just don’t call me from my job just to lecture me.” And he turned to start walking away. 

When Matt realised that he wasn’t going to win a competition of guilt-tripping here, he swallowed what was left of his pride and hoarsely cried out, “Wait.” 

Mahoney stopped, partly surprised, partly expecting it. He turned and raised his eyebrow. Daredevil made his way to him and pulled out the crumpled paper in his pocket. 

“More targets. The same group had a meeting nearby an hour ago.” And he passed Mahoney the list. Brett looked over at it with sudden professional seriousness. “There are two Mosques in Brooklyn on there, a Synagogue here in Manhattan, and the last one is-” 

“The Church my mum goes too.” Brett finished with a restrained anger in his tone. Daredevil nodded. “The dates are on here but where are they stocking weapons for the attacks?” 

“I’m working on that.” Matt responded. 

“Well do they know you have this? They could just move up the dates-” Brett was sounding just slightly panicked. 

“They don’t know. I didn’t have to punch it out of anyone.” He said it with a hint of regret. “But…there’s more.” 

“More targets?” 

“No not targets.” Matt hesitated, he still didn’t understand much of the conversations he’d overheard, they’d managed to speak fairly cryptically. “They keep other lists, names.” 

“Targets?” Brett repeated. 

“No, kids. Teenagers. Some of them are theirs.” 

“They keep a list of their own kids?” Brett sounded about as confused as he was about it. 

Daredevil nodded, “The names and their schools. It’s a detailed record.” 

“Well it must be for recruitment.” Brett said it like it was obvious, and it had been the first thing Matt had considered too but he was sure from the nature of the conversations that there was something to this he was missing. 

“Possibly.” He offered. “That’s all I have for now. When you start digging around for those weapons don’t be too obvious, they might-”

“Move it up, yeah thanks genius that’s what I just told you.” Brett wasn’t in his best mood but that was very much Matt’s fault for starting the conversation the way he had. 

“Well, take care Sergeant.” He said almost apologetically. Almost.

 

* * *

 

“Are you gonna be like Daredevil now?” 

Salma choked on her water as Imane’s question came out of nowhere. Trying to be subtle as she worked to cough the liquid out of her windpipe, she chose to ignore Hamza eyeing her suspiciously before he answered his little sister. 

“No Imane, not like him. He’s not a boxer.” He stated matter-of-factly as he served himself more pasta. 

“What is he then?” Riyad piped up. 

“He’s…” Hamza narrowed his eyes in thought. 

“Is he one of those aliens?” Rayan asked. “Pete said there are loads of them now and they look like normal people and you wouldn’t even know they were aliens.” 

“They’re not.” Salma said suddenly, voice still hoarse from her choking. Her tone was strange enough that she drew the attention of all five pairs of eyes. “They’re not aliens Rayan. Just because they’re a bit different doesn’t mean they’re not human like you and me.” 

“But Pete said-” 

“Pete doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just repeating what they say on the news and it’s not true. Like the things they say about us. It’s not true.” 

The kids looked back at her solemnly in the way that they did when they accepted her words as fact and were working to commit it to memory. 

Isa also had his brow furrowed in deep thought. “So…Daredevil’s just like us?” 

“He’s…” Salma found herself in the same boat as Hamza. “He’s a person.” She finished decisively. “Just like us.” 

Isa nodded in apparent agreement. “Matt said so too.” 

Salma tried not to flinch. When Isa had come home that Sunday only to say that Matt hadn’t shown up to the park, she had quickly apologised on his behalf and told her brother that something important had come up so he’d had to cancel last-minute. It had been a great relief to Isa, who hadn’t been oblivious to Matt’s hastened exit the last time he’d been around. She figured it was still too soon after their…conversation. They could work things out this weekend instead. 

“Can we be aliens?” Imane asked thoughtfully as she twirled her spoon in her cereal.

“No, duh.” Rayan scoffed from the other side. 

“But Mrs Jenkinson says we can be anything we want, if we just put our minds to it.” The little girl declared confidently, unfazed by her brother’s scorn. Salma exchanged a questioning glance with Hamza, to undermine a toddler’s determination or encourage impossible aspirations? 

“Where’s our mind?” Imane asked suddenly, dropping her spoon down to put both hands in her curly hair as if she had lost something there. 

“Our mind?” Salma repeated blankly back. To her right, Isa was clearly fighting back a grin. 

“Yeah where is it? And where do we need to put it?” She asked, brows furrowed as she tussled her own hair before huffing and putting her hands down. “To become an alien.” 

Well. That made sense now.

 

* * *

 

Karen was glaring down at the files on her desk, all police records of ‘possible’ hate-crimes in the last two weeks alone. A soft cough to her left startled her out of a spiral of dark and slightly violent thoughts. 

“Oh, hey Foggy.” She brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned back tiredly in her chair. Technically he was catching her not-working but she didn’t have the mental energy at the moment to make a case for herself. He was skimming the files with his eyes, lips set in a small frown. 

“More assaults?” He asked grimly. When Karen nodded he shook his head mournfully and ran a hand through his own blonde hair. “It’s just not stopping is it?” 

“Not unless we do something about it.” She said bitterly, clicking the pen in her hand in agitation. 

“So it’s up to us to save the city again?” Foggy posed the rhetorical question in a semi-playful manner, probably trying to help and just get a smile out of her, but she wasn’t amused.

“Yes. It is.” Her blue eyes tore into him in a way she knew always got to him. “Foggy these are people who look like you and me and are doing all of this in our names. Collectively. In a system that’s built to serve _us._ If we don’t try to stop this, then we’re a part of it.” She’d been doing a lot of reading in the past couple of weeks and most of it had turned her world-view completely upside down. 

“You don’t think that’s a bit of a stretch?” Foggy’s eyes narrowed in what seemed like concern for her. As intended it drove her off the offensive. 

“Honestly,” Karen tossed her pen back onto her desk. “I’m not sure what I think anymore.” 

Her friend looked down at her without saying anything, hands in his pockets as she waited for him to speak. His eyes flitted over the files on her desk again before something seemed to cross his mind and harden his expression. 

“Brett says they’ve been finding their weapon stores, but that still only solves a secondary problem.” He spoke as if he was still gathering his thoughts on the matter, eyes fixed on her desk but only to provide them with a focus as his mind wandered. 

“The primary problem being…?” Karen asked tentatively, aware that she was probing into a developing idea. 

“Where’s the money coming from?” Foggy finally looked up to meet her eyes. “Hanson’s just a professor, and not a very good one from what I hear.” 

“You’ve looked into him?” She interrupted with a hesitantly self-satisfied smile. It was only a matter of time before he was dragged fully on-board with all of this. 

Foggy shrugged and waved off the question. “My point is the group must have donors. Rich ones.” 

Karen was latching on to his train of thought. “Someone higher up than Hanson. As the face of the organisation, there’s no way he’s actually the head. So we’re looking for…” 

“A puppet-master.” The two said in unison with shared wry smiles.

“A rich puppet-master.” Foggy added. “So where do we start?” He asked stepping back to lean against the wall, evidently fairly resigned at this point to his participation in the off-book investigation. It was a partial weight off her shoulders to see it. Now that he mentioned it, there was something she had come across on Facebook just that morning… 

“Actually, I might have an idea but…you’re not going to like it.” 

Foggy rolled his eyes to the ceiling at the sly grin on her face, but before he could respond, the door to the office opened. 

“Matt,” Karen greeted her co-worker quickly, hoping that somehow her tone would convey to Foggy her intent to not relay their discussion. 

“Hi.” He replied impassively, before continuing in a professional manner. “So Walsh agreed to settle.” 

“That’s great!” Foggy exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed but not so much with his tone. “I’ll start work on the Reid case.” He said turning to enter his office, closing the door behind him without another word. 

Karen and Foggy stood in silence for a minute, both blinking at Matt’s door like it had woken up and spoken to them or something. Seriously, Matt had been like this for a well over a week now, something was off.

“Any idea what that’s about?” She asked Foggy quietly. When her eyes fell on him, he had a bit of a guilty look even as he shrugged. “Foggy…” She started warningly. 

“I…he didn’t go see the kid yesterday. Or last week for that matter.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he guiltily admitted what he knew. She appreciated how bad he was at keeping secrets from her. 

“Why not?” 

“I think he and Salma had an argument, I dunno, he wouldn’t talk about it.” He spoke reaching over to absently flit through the case files she had. “And obviously if he _did_ ask for my advice,” he continued with his voice raised from the undertones they’d been employing. “I’d tell him to go talk to her instead of wallowing and avoiding it.” 

“Right…” Karen agreed nervously, having the distinct sense that she was missing something. A feeling she was all too familiar with when it came to those two knuckleheads.

 

* * *

 

Matt didn’t miss the not-so-subtle admonishment on Foggy’s part. It bugged him but then again, he had been pretty frosty for a while now and in a small office it wasn’t all that fair of him. Talking to Salma was definitely not an option, she had made it very clear that him being around her family was doing more harm than good, and he was in no position to refute that. But ‘wallowing’, as Foggy had kindly put it, wasn’t getting him anywhere either.

Rapping his fingers against the table he realised he’d forgotten one option that he had here. Resolving to find his solution straight after work, he pulled out his next case to get through.

 

*

 

Three hours later, Matt was stood outside a very familiar Church. The taste of metallic salts rushed towards him as he neared the stained glass windows. There was something homey about it that he couldn’t quite explain. 

“Matthew.” Came the voice he was expecting as Matt made his way past the pews, stopping at the third one from the front. 

“Father,” he greeted with a smile, side-stepping his way across the bench so the older man had space to sit by him. Since the Church was empty besides the two of them, he didn’t have to wait to have the priest’s full attention. The Father took his seat next to Matt and said what he usually would. 

“It’s been some time.” At least Father Lantom was never accusing in his comments, just observant. 

“I’ve been…occupied.” Matt shifted so both his hands were resting on the cane he held in front of him. 

“With good deeds I see, or you would have been in here much more often.” It was phrased a bit like a question. 

“That’s the problem,” Matt sighed. Relieved at the opportunity to say what he really felt. “I thought I was but…now I’m not so sure.” 

“You’re having doubts about what you do?” 

“Not that, that I’ve made my peace with.” For once Matt wasn’t here to talk about his work as Daredevil. 

“There’s something else? At work?” Father Lantom seemed fairly curious now. 

“Not work…it’s…personal.” 

“A woman.” The priest finally said with a nod of understanding. 

Matt couldn’t help a small grin. “In a way, but it’s not what you think.” 

Father Lantom hummed disbelievingly. 

“Really,” Matt said, his grin widening in equal parts embarrassment and amusement. “It’s…a friend. Someone I’ve only gotten to know recently, who I’ve been trying to help, but now I think that by doing that I’ve made things worse for them.” 

“So what did you do then?” 

“I left.” Matt stated simply. To his right the older man sighed, leaning back to look properly at Matt. He couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious, like the priest was able to probe into his soul even when he wasn’t admitting to anything. 

“When it comes to our friends Matthew, we never solve our problems by just walking away.” The priest looked on at him with a hint of sadness to his voice. 

Matt said nothing. Once again, he had no defence for his actions. The last couple weeks had been a series of Matt Murdock screwing up. 

“Not even when it’s you that’s the problem?” He asked softly, nails digging into his own skin around the white cane. 

“If that were the case, then maybe. But you’re a lawyer Matthew. You should know better than to be so quick to jump to a verdict.” 

There it was, the advice he needed, the advice he knew but hadn’t wanted to hear from himself. The kind of thing that only Father Lantom could say to him before it stuck.

 

* * *

 

It was Tuesday. It had been exactly 18 days since her confrontation with Matt. He hadn’t called, texted, or even dropped by her fire escape. Salma mentally face-palmed as that last part crossed her mind without any trace of irony.

Another Sunday had come and gone and she had lied to Isa again. Lying to her siblings was not something she made a habit of, in fact it wasn’t something she ever did. But to tell him that Matt had disappeared and wasn’t bothered to come see him anymore would most certainly hurt his feelings. He was upset enough as it was. 

Salma was pacing furiously behind her teacher’s desk. Icing her out would have been fine – fair even - but her brother hadn’t done anything. And Matt was making her out to be the bad guy by having to deliver the news two weeks in a row. 

There was a knock on her door and Alyssa opened it to enter. “No coffee today?”

“Sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” Salma apologised with a hand to her forehead. 

“Darling you’ve been stressed for days, what haven’t you told me?” Her friend walked over with mingled concern and curiosity. 

“I’m not stressed,” She started, before murmuring, “I’m pissed off.” 

Alyssa raised an eyebrow at her. It wasn’t like she had sworn or anything, but she was generally known to be a hundred percent clean in her language. 

“Is it a man?” The maths teacher shook her head disapprovingly, not at Salma of course, just at men in general. “It’s always a man.” 

Instead of denying the accusation, Salma was more in the mood to vent. 

“Aren’t they just-” 

“Hopeless.” Alyssa finished for her. 

“Inconsiderate.” Salma added in agreement, folding her arms defensively.

“Foolish.” 

“Absolutely incompetent.” 

“Reckless.” 

“No kidding, and downright irresponsible.” 

“Entirely helpless without a woman.” 

“Careless, completely careless.” 

“Amen to that.” Alyssa declared, shaking her head with an eye roll. 

The two looked at each other from across the classroom before bursting into laughter. 

“Honey,” Alyssa started, wiping her eyes when she finally regained some composure. “If there’s one thing you need to know about men, it’s that they need all the help that they can get. If they don’t know what’s up from down then you need to spell it out for them. Waiting around isn’t gonna help anyone.” 

Salma sighed, partly to calm her breath and partly because she knew her friend was right. In fact…she quickly glanced at her watch. She was done for the day as it was, and still had two hours before she needed to get the kids. So since this was not a conversation she could have over the phone…

“Alyssa,” she directed at her colleague thoughtfully. “Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?” 

“Not nearly enough.” 

Salma grinned. Feeling emboldened by her friend’s advice and confidence, she left the school to take a detour before getting the kids. In the cavernous depths of her handbag, she had found the business card Lorena had given her after that fateful dinner back in October. 

After a fifteen minute brisk walk in the streets, she stood outside the same office address that glared up at her from the card (that had started this whole mess), and she found herself slightly depleted of the drive that had gotten her there. Taking a deep breath, she brought her knuckle to the door and knocked with intent. 

After a pause long enough to make her motion to knock again, she heard that voice…without seeing his face it suddenly sounded a lot more like the man in the mask.

“Come in.”


	13. “Sorry it’s been a while”

Matt had given himself the night to think over Father Lantom’s advice. The result of which was the thought that maybe he _had_ been too rushed in beating himself up, maybe he did have a chance to fix things. He figured he’d go over this weekend and then he had at least a few days to prepare his defence. It was typical lawyer talk but then, he _was_ a lawyer.

Anyway there was no point in dwelling on it now, he had a mountain of paperwork to get through since business wasn’t too bad. When Foggy and Karen had left for a late lunch he had turned down the invitation, knowing that he still wasn’t great company for anyone and feeling much more comfortable in his office surrounded by reminders that somehow, what he was doing helped someone. 

He was so immersed in a case file that he had blocked out everything from outside the office walls, leaving him startled at the knock on the door. With his mind refocused, a woody-cinnamon scent flooded his senses and he was thrown off all over again. 

Outside, Salma’s hand lifted again and Matt quickly raised his voice to invite her in. His own office door was ajar, with no need for privacy without his co-workers. She stepped inside and glanced around at the humble reception, one hand fiddling nervously with the strap of her bag. Her gaze soon fell on him and he waited for her to say something first. 

“So,” she started casually. “Do you take walk-ins?” 

Matt realised he’d been holding his breath, and was utterly relieved at how different she already sounded to the last time they had spoken. 

“Depends how heavy your purse is.” He adopted the teasing tone hesitantly. 

“That’s not what I heard about Nelson and Murdock.” Salma took a few steps forward before leaning cautiously against his doorframe. 

“So our reputation precedes us?” 

“Well I also heard there were two of you but here you are, looking as lonely and miserable as an angsty photographer’s Instagram post.” 

Matt blinked in surprise, ordinarily that would have hit a nerve but there was no malice in her words. Unsure how to react to that, he simply signalled for her to take the seat opposite him and asked lightly, “So what’s the case?” 

“Well,” she sighed as she lifted her bag strap over her head to her other shoulder. “It’s about my little brother.” She stated, taking her seat. “He’s got this friend that he’s been hanging out with lately, only suddenly his friend stopped showing up. I’m thinking of filing a missing person’s report.” Salma tilted her head as if she was considering it. 

Talk about unpredictable. 

“Did you try calling this friend?” Matt asked tentatively. 

“Mm,” she hummed. “No. Couldn’t do that. Phone conversations are not my favourite. Also I may have sort of yelled at him a bit the last time we talked so I wasn’t sure he’d pick up anyway.” 

“Well maybe he deserved that.” Matt said in a low voice. 

“Maybe.” Salma said thoughtfully, “I haven’t really figured that out yet. Having said that, I _had_ planned to yell at him again, you know for avoiding my brother. But I’m thinking now that maybe that part was my fault.” 

“What’s changed your mind?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

“Mostly the part where I found the friend in question looking lonely and miserable.” She said seriously, breaking into a smirk only after an expression of mild shock crossed Matt’s face for the second time. 

“Look,” she said, her eyes softening as she finally dropped the act. “I’m sorry about what I said, it wasn’t fair on you.” 

“But it was true,” Matt asserted. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” She said it like it didn’t matter. “Either way, you can’t just walk out of Isa’s life like this. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I wasn’t asking you to stop seeing him. You’re too important to him.” 

“You said it yourself, I’m only going to end up hurting him.” 

“You’re hurting him _now_.” She explained calmly, and without judgment. “I get that you’re not a parent, and technically neither am I, but at this point I know a thing or two about raising kids and the potential for scarring them for life.” 

Matt knew something about that too. But he wasn’t Stick. He wouldn’t be. 

“Forget what might happen, the worst thing you can do for a kid is _not_ be there for them.” Salma looked at him with eyes narrowing in concern and a sudden thought. “But if you don’t want that on you, then you need to do this properly. Talk to him before you disappear. And do it soon.” 

Because he wasn’t Stick. 

“I…I have to think about it.” He responded, his mind a muddle of self-judgments. 

Salma nodded as if she’d expected that. “Fair enough.” And having said her piece she rose to leave, pausing at his doorframe again. 

“Matt,” She started, turning to look back at him. “I just wanted to say thank you. For…saving my life.” She tugged at her bag strap, repositioning it on her shoulder. “I know I’ve probably said that already, but…it’s nice to have a face instead of a mask to be grateful to.” 

Matt said nothing, offering only a slight nod in response. And with that she turned and made her way out, leaving him alone in the office again. How had she put it? Lonely and miserable.

Maybe he didn’t have to be.

 

* * *

 

“Do you like it?” The little girl pushed up against Salma’s knee, big brown eyes anticipating her reaction.

“It’s amazing! It’s…me?” Salma asked timidly, just barely tilting the paper she was holding. 

Imane clasped her hands and squealed in her classic expression of delight. “The teacher said to draw our _favourite_ person, and I thought Riyad would be too small on the page so I did you instead.” 

“Oh,” Salma said, shooting a glare at Hamza at the doorway, for his audible cackling. “Thank you habibti, I love it.” And she opened her arms for Imane to hop up on the couch and enjoy being squeezed. 

The little girl, pleased with her success, proceeded to patter back to the kids’ room to get ready for bed. Hamza was still chuckling when he made his own way over. Eyeing the drawing from over Salma’s shoulder he asked incredulously, “How on earth did you know it was supposed to be you?” 

“Five times out of ten when a kid gives you a drawing it’s you.” Salma said like an authority on the subject. “So it’s only a fifty fifty shot but look, there are my eyes.” She pointed to two distinct baubles on the page. At this, she joined in on the laughter with her brother. 

Swinging himself over to sit beside his sister, Hamza nudged her and asked in a quiet voice, “So d’you think Matt’s gonna show up this weekend?” 

Salma kept her gaze on the purple streaks that Imane had decorated her scarf with, while answering. “I went to see him yesterday.” 

Her brother raised his eyebrows in surprise, “You didn’t argue again did you?” 

“No,” she huffed, swatting him lightly with the drawing, before admitting, “I was going to but…” She remembered the angry intent with which she had made her way to his office, determined to make her feelings known. But at the end of the day she hadn’t had it in her to unfairly guilt-trip him a second time, and all because she was failing at being a star parent. “But he’s got his own issues.” Understatement of the year. “And now he’s not sure if he wants to keep this up.” 

“That’s weird.” Hamza responded, eyes narrowing in thought. “I thought he really liked hanging out with Isa. And you.” He added with another nudge. When Salma raised an eyebrow at him in warning he held his hands up in defence with a shrug. “Just saying.” 

She did not appreciate his insinuation. God he really could be such a teenager sometimes, with a mind that immediately jumped to such typical conclusions. Could he even be further off? She made her disappointment known with a disapproving shake of the head.

“Anyway, we’ll just have to wait and see with him.” She said, still looking at her little sister’s artwork. “Hey, are those supposed to be my feet?” 

Hamza leaned over to take a closer look, before humming in assent. “You do have big feet.” 

Salma flung the paper on to the table before launching at her teenage brother with a pillow in hand. Now that was a comment he wasn’t getting away with.

 

* * *

 

The ping of a Facebook notification caught Karen’s attention as she stirred her coffee. Putting the cup down in a hurry, she switched tabs on her computer. Another reply. Great. 

The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was there to stay, but she had to do this even then. What’s that expression? Keep you’re friends close, but keep your enemies c- 

“Hey Karen.” 

She knocked over her cup and scrambled to grab it and stop the whole thing from spilling over.

“Matt. Hi.” She instinctively tucked her hair behind her eyes as a casual gesture, while also minimising the tab on her screen. Which didn’t make any sense since Matt was blind. 

“You ok?” He asked with concern. 

“Yeah, fine, busy, fine.” Way to sound guilty. 

Matt looked like he was about to say something else, when Foggy came out of his own office. 

“I hate corporate lawyers.” He declared to the room. 

“Weren’t you almost a corporate lawyer?” Karen asked in amusement. 

“ _Almost_.” Her friend emphasised as Matt looked on with a smirk. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I’m gonna roast them in court no matter how cool they think they are.” 

“Of course you will.” She laughed. Foggy’s energy was never not contagious. 

“How’s your load?” The blonde lawyer asked his partner. 

“I’m getting there,” Matt replied evasively. Foggy didn’t miss that either, but just rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘slacker’ to Karen. She couldn’t help but giggle and it drew a reaction from Matt. 

“You’re not taking advantage of my disability are you?” He asked with a semi-dramatic expression of having taken offence. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it buddy.” Foggy winked at her as he said it. “Oh hey by the way,” He spoke with sudden interest to Matt. “Did you know that you’re friends with Jesus?” 

Karen had just taken a sip of her coffee, but clearly that was a mistake because now she was trying to smother back her choking sounds. 

“What?” Matt asked, his chin drawing back. “Now you’re making fun of me being Catholic? Really Foggy?” 

“No seriously, you’re friends with Jesus. Ask Karen.” And he signalled to her with an innocent expression. She had spoken to him _in confidence_. Sort of. That hadn’t been explicitly stated but to pull it out of nowhere like this…she’d get her own revenge later. 

When Matt looked over at her with an expression of complete confusion, she really blushed. “I was um, curious so…I looked up your friend’s name.” 

“My friend?” He asked blankly. 

“Isa. The um, the kid you-” 

Foggy waved her off, “Yeah he knows who the kid is.” 

“Right, well. His name, it’s um, Arabic.” 

Matt’s expression was unchanged. 

“Oh,” she realised hurriedly that she hadn’t explained yet. “For Jesus. It’s Arabic for Jesus.” 

Foggy was looking amused, both at her stuttering and at Matt’s furrowed brows relaxing into a face of bewilderment. 

“Oh.” He simply said. “I didn’t know that.” 

“No kidding.” Foggy chuckled. 

Karen rolled her eyes at the blonde lawyers’ entertainment, before furrowing her own eyebrows in confusion. Matt’s face was now the picture of delight. Foggy had noticed too and it stopped his laughter in its tracks. 

“Um, buddy. You ok there?” 

“Yeah.” Matt said with an air of someone who’d experienced enlightenment. “I am.” Turning to face her, he said with the utmost sincerity, “Thank you Karen.” 

“Um, yeah sure. I mean you’re welcome.” What was he thanking her for exactly? 

She didn’t have the opportunity to ask. Leaving both her and Foggy absolutely mystified, he mentioned that he needed to be somewhere and just like that, he was gone. Karen looked over at her remaining colleague. 

“The day I understand what goes on in that man’s head, is the day pigs fly _on Mars_.”

 

* * *

 

Matt stood nervously outside the door he’d found himself at so often in recent times. Upon quick investigation he noted that Salma wasn’t home, but the person he needed to see most was. He knocked before his nerves could get the better of him.

“Coming!” Came Hamza’s voice as the teenager navigated around a carefully placed domino set. The twins were scolding him even as he successfully avoided it, and Imane had been confined to observe from the couch in case she accidentally disrupted the ambitious project. 

Hamza opened the door and immediately his face lit with a smile. “Matt!” 

From his seat at the kitchen counter where he was doing his homework, Isa heard the announcement. 

“Hi Hamza.” He reciprocated the sentiment. “Sorry it’s been a while.” 

The boy huffed away his apology and welcomed him inside. “Salma’s only just left to the grocers, but Isa’s in the kitchen.” He was walking there as he spoke, knowing Matt would follow. 

When he entered, the little boy didn’t immediately greet him. His lips were quirked down slightly, and he was unusually still, the way he would be when he was completely focused in trying to read a situation. 

“Hi Isa!” Matt tried to inject as much warmth and affection into his words as possible, and thankfully, it had the desired effect. The little boy smiled back and straightened from his hunched position over his school books. 

“Hi Matt! Are you better now?” 

Salma must have said he was sick or something, it was generous of her to make up an excuse on his behalf. 

“Yeah, thanks. I’ve missed spending time with you all.” 

“Us too.” Isa affirmed. Behind them, Hamza was busying himself with some mugs. 

Matt quickly held out his hand to stop him, “Thank you, but I can’t stay. I just wanted to drop in and see how you were all doing, make sure it was ok for me to come by as usual on Sunday?” 

“Of course!” Hamza exclaimed. From the living room came the distinct sound of an entire domino set collapsing the way their designed to do, followed by shouting toddlers and the sound of pre-tears. “Oh oh,” Hamza muttered before excusing himself to interrupt the chaos. 

“It was a hundred and fifty pieces.” Isa informed Matt grimly. “They’ve been at it for two hours. The first time it happened when they were just over half way through.” 

“Sounds…” Matt couldn’t find the words. 

“Entertaining? Yeah, it has been.” The little boy grinned, a rare sign of his more mischievous side that was usually curbed by his responsibilities as an older brother of three. 

Matt laughed. “So you’ve been good then? School, home, all good?” 

Isa tilted his head to consider the question, “School’s fine. Home’s…fine too. Imane’s started talking in her sleep. I’m working on ignoring that.” He continued, “Rayan keeps getting in trouble at school for saying things but the other kids have been mean to him so I don’t think it’s his fault. But it’s been like that for all of us and I guess we don’t say bad things so he probably shouldn’t either.” 

Matt thought how to phrase his next words carefully. “Mean how exactly?” 

The little boy shrugged. “They call us names some times. Like what they say on the news. I can’t say what it is.” He shook his head frowning. “It’s not nice. I’m not supposed to repeat it.” 

“Of course not,” Matt said quickly. He hadn’t meant to push the boy for details. 

“But it’s ok. Salma says she went through it too. And it’ll be ok.” 

The boy’s optimism pierced Matt’s heart and he couldn’t find a way to respond. Fortunately, Hamza chose that moment to return. 

“I don’t know how she does it,” The teen sighed, ruffling his curly hair as he took a seat beside his brother. “If parenting was a superpower…” 

Matt grinned at the statement. “She’s definitely made it one if it wasn’t already.” 

The two boys nodded in complete agreement.

 

* * *

 

Foggy groaned at the sight of his phone calendar. Work was good, but so were nights out. At least it was Friday evening already. Even still, the highlighted event for next Saturday burned in his vision. Karen had been right, he hadn’t liked her idea one bit. Damn that woman was stubborn. 

Speaking of stubborn women, this lawyer he was up against for the Goldman assault case was giving him daily migraines. It should be open and shut but she’d gone and dredged out something from the victim’s teen years, and now it had to go to trial. 

“Stupid,” He muttered to himself, tossing a crumpled paper of angry doodles to the bin. When he missed by inches he stared at the offending bin in disdain, “Really?” He said to the universe in general. 

The knock at his door was almost concurrent with the turning knob, typical Karen. 

“Hey, did you get a look at the-” 

“Yes.” He interrupted her quickly. She may not be aware of Matt’s super hearing, or as he preferred to call it, SPS, but _he_ certainly was.

“Ok well-”

“We can talk about it, um, later.” 

She looked at him perplexed. “Foggy this is-” 

“Super important, yes. And we will get to it. Soon. Very soon.” He nodded confidently. Sort of. She gave him a look like she thought he might be high, then rolled her eyes and returned to her desk. 

Foggy leaned his head back to stare at the peeling paint of his ceiling. “Matt,” he said in a low voice. “I just want you to know, sometimes I kind of hate you.” A few seconds later his phone beeped with a message. 

 _Love you too buddy._  

“Asshole,” Foggy muttered. Then another message. 

 _xoxo_. 

Even as he rolled his eyes it made him chuckle. Deciding then and there that he wasn’t going to accomplish anymore today, he went to their make-shift reception and dramatically announced his proposal. “Ok, I’m calling it a day. Who’s up for Josies?” 

Matt asked from behind his closed door, “Drinks on you?” 

“We’ll put it on the tab!” Foggy grinned, earning a smile from Karen even after his strange behaviour a few minutes ago. 

“I’m game,” she agreed, switching off her computer. 

Matt was already at his door, cane in hand and jacket over his arm. 

“No eels this time,” Foggy said in warning. 

Karen laughed and agreed. Her phone beeped as she was slipping it into her purse, she stopped to look at it and immediately Matt on the other side of the room stiffened. A standard moment for Foggy. What was he missing now? 

“Everything okay Karen?” He asked cautiously, she had gone a bit pale.

She looked up, blue eyes set in familiar grim resignation. “There’s been another bombing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe this includes only my second Foggy POV!
> 
> habibti (Arabic) is the female equivalent of habibi
> 
> Rereading this it feels a bit cut and abrupt but I'm already on the next one and to be honest I just cbb to keep editing till I'm 100% happy. Just gonna let it sit like this. Hope you liked it!


	14. “It’s not what it looks like”

Salma glanced over at the kids’ open bedroom door and lowered the volume on the TV. She lifted her feet off the floor so she was hugging her knees, chin resting on her arms as she waited for it to get worse. 

_The terror suspect is a local Middle School student, Karim Es-”_

She buried her head and groaned into her jeans. It just got worse.

Hamza sounded like he was munching on an apple as he came in from the kitchen, “Hey are we sti- ça va?”

Salma didn’t look up, she mumbled something about the news but it wasn’t coherent enough for her brother. Regardless, he noticed the TV soon enough. She could tell because he had stopped eating. 

Finally looking up and brushing the wisps of hair off her face, she muttered to herself, “Now what?” 

Her brother came to join her on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as hers had been. “Did anyone get hurt?” 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” She replied, chin still tucked between her knees. Anything to maximise a reaction would be taken advantage of straight off the bat, so the lack of information was as telling as the facts they chose to share. 

“Iranian?” Her brother asked. Kind of random but her mind had gone to the same place. Esfahani, definitely sounded Farsi. 

“Probably.” She shrugged. “Also, a pre-teen.” Hamza made a noise of disbelief, but she nodded, disheartened at her own words, “ _Middle school student_.” 

He gaped at the screen before shaking his head in frustration. “This is insane.” 

She didn’t disagree. Hell’s Kitchen was turning out to be exactly what it claimed it was. “Those boxing lessons might come in handy sooner than I’d hoped.” Salma said to the screen. 

“Actually…they might have already.”

Salma turned to her brother, eyes widened in astonishment before narrowing in disapproval that he hadn’t mentioned this before. Hamza gave her an apologetic shrug and so she sighed leaning back into the couch. 

“You know what, I don’t wanna know.” She declared, closing her eyes to the world and its problems. Upon hearing a door creak she hurriedly sat up to switch the TV off. Riyad was leaving his room to join them, closely followed by his counter-part and their younger sister. 

“We’re hungry,” Rayan announced, on behalf of the trio. 

Taking in Salma’s weary state, Hamza offered to prepare dinner as he ushered the kids into the kitchen to be his sous-chefs. She tossed a pillow at his back while he walked away, just so he knew she was grateful. 

Planning to curl into a ball on the couch for the next half an hour, Salma began the process of flattening her crouched self into the bouncy surface. Then her phone rang and she externally growled at the world. Only bothering to open one eye, she reached over the table with her foot and tugged her phone forward with her toes. When it was close enough for her to see ‘Matthew Murdock’ sprawled across the screen, she jolted upright and immediately picked up. 

“We’re all ok.” Was her first statement. She knew what it felt like to worry about someone when something like this happened. There was an audible sound of relief on the other end. 

“So you’re home?” He asked, still concerned. 

“Yep, me and the whole gang.” She said, retreating back into the comfort of the corner seat. 

“Good.” He said, more to himself than anything. Besides his voice, there was the distinct sound of police sirens in the background. 

“Matt are you…are you _there_ right now?” Her body stiffened again as she waited for reassurance. 

“I was, now we’re at the station.” Now that he mentioned it, the sirens were at a bit of a distance and she was hearing a lot of background walkie sounds as well. 

Still, it didn’t make much sense for him to be there, did it? “Why? What’s going on?” 

“It’s not what it looks like, _at all_.” He sounded stressed about that, like he was personally offended by media mistruths. A small part of her brain registered that as adorable and kind of pitied him. 

“No surprises there, but what does it matter?” She moved to use the arm-rest as a cushion, tucking her legs against herself again so she was comfortably safe while Matt was out worrying about society. 

“They’ve arrested the kid-” 

“He’s alive?” She interrupted, surprised at her own question. 

“Yeah, in cuffs, but very much alive.” He sounded like there was something he wasn’t telling her, and was in the process of debating whether or not to. 

“Matt…” She prodded suspiciously. 

“We’re taking the case.” He said simply. Clearly having made the decision.

“You’re what?” She repeated blankly. 

“Foggy and I are here to take the kid’s case.” He clarified carefully, before waiting for her reaction. 

She wasn’t really sure how to react. Something like this could ruin him, there’d be a lot of angry people who’d want to make sure his practice never saw another pay cheque. But Matt and Foggy didn’t pander to social expectations. The whole point of their firm was to help people who didn’t otherwise have a chance coming up against the law. That much had been obvious since she’d first learnt about them. 

“Salma?” Matt asked when she hadn’t responded. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.” She said quickly. When it was clear he was still waiting for a reaction she asked, “You’ve already made up your mind about this haven’t you?” 

“I have.” He replied. 

“Good.” She shut her eyes and ran her hand over her forehead pushing her hair back. “I’m glad.” Whether it was what he wanted to hear or not, it was the truth.

 

* * *

 

Foggy was mildly irritated about the argument he’d just had with Brett when he came back to see Matt hanging up the phone. 

“He thinks we’re insane.” He shared, not that that wasn’t to be expected. 

“Doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Matt replied dismissively. He was probably fully aware that Brett was walking towards them, and within earshot. 

“Do you really want this to be the last case you ever take?” Brett directed at Matt sceptically. 

“We appreciate your concern for our careers Sergeant, but we would like to see our client now.” It was business-Matt mode and no one ever messed around with that. Foggy sometimes envied the intimidation his friend automatically elicited but there were definite benefits to being the perky one. 

Brett shrugged before turning to lead the way. Foggy had some sympathy for him, the guy was just looking out for them, his heart was in the right place. 

They’d been told it was just a kid but still, when the door to the interrogation room was opened for them, Foggy found himself momentarily stunned. A lanky tween was sat, shivering with nerves in the empty room, hands cuffed to the metal table. Foggy just saw a mess of light brown hair before the boy looked up, his piercing green eyes widened in fright. 

After a flashback of their first case, the day they’d met Karen, Foggy mentally shook himself out of astonishment and turned to his old friend. “Are the cuffs really necessary?” 

Brett clearly didn’t think so but he explained with, “Once the feds get here-” 

“Well they’re not here.” Matt interrupted, visibly pissed off. “So we’d like to talk to our client _without_ the handcuffs.” 

Brett shrugged and signalled to the guard to use the key. The boy didn’t move his hands even after he was unchained. He looked petrified. 

Both the guard and Brett left, closing the door behind them. Foggy offered the boy a weak smile as he and Matt took the seats opposite. 

“Hi,” He started, hoping to come off as friendly. “It’s Karim right?” He hoped he was saying that right. The boy nodded tentatively so he carried on. “I’m Foggy, this is my partner Matt, we’re your lawyers.” He probably didn’t need to speak this slowly… 

“I have lawyers?” Karim asked in confusion. Foggy felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The boy’s voice hadn’t even broken yet. 

“You do now.” Matt smiled. “We want to help you, but to do that, you need to tell us everything that’s happened.” 

Karim still looked nervous, his hands drawn together, fingers scratching at his own nails. Yet he managed a suspicious tone when he asked, “Why should I trust you?” 

Foggy really hoped Matt had an answer for that. 

“Do you believe in God?” Matt asked, head tilting forward as if he was actually looking at the boy from behind his glasses. 

“Of course.” It was the first thing the boy had said without his voice shaking.

“So do I. I believe in God, in fate, in justice.” Foggy vaguely registered this as Matt’s Daredevil voice. Not the voice he used when he was in the costume, the one he had when he was defending it. 

Karim looked both suspicious and interested in what Matt had to say, so he listened.

“I believe in doing what’s right. In fighting for justice. Protecting the innocent. That’s why I became a lawyer.” Matt explained. It was a long sell but it seemed to be working. 

“I know someone, a bit younger than you. His name is Isa. He lives here in Hell’s Kitchen, and it’s his home. But sometimes he doesn’t feel safe. Sometimes he’s scared. For him, for his family. Scared that he’ll wake up the next day and the people in this city won’t like that he’s here. I promised him once that I wouldn’t let that happen.” Matt leaned forward towards the wide-eyed boy. “And now I’m promising you, that I am going to do everything in my power to fight for your justice. To make sure this city sees you for something other than the headline you made today. Because I know you’re innocent.” 

Foggy was still holding his breath when Matt delivered the winning line. He should really give Matt more credit for his people skills. Mentioning Isa’s name was genius, it was obvious that it had resonated with the boy sitting opposite them. 

Karim sat staring into Matt’s glasses for about a minute. Both the lawyers were happy to let the speech sit for that long. Soon enough, he took a deep breath in and out, then looked up at the two of them.

“It started about a month ago.”

 

* * *

 

Salma was marking papers as she sat on the floor in front of the living room couch. Her long curly hair strewn across her back so her four year old sister could complete the ritual of combing it out for her. Once in a while Imane would get stuck on a knot, but Salma did her best to not audibly wince in pain. For the most part she was alright though. 

“Two plus two.” Salma asked. 

“That’s too easy,” The little girl scolded, stroking the locks to check if she’d combed them well enough. 

“Four plus six.” 

Imane had to put the comb down to use all her ten fingers for this one. After a couple of minutes, during which Salma managed to actually make minor progress in her work, she declared, “Ten!” 

The affirmation was in the form of a thumbs up since Salma had been strictly ordered to not move her head.

“No more maths,” Imane decided as she started working through the left portion of Salma’s hair. 

“Sure thing habibti,” Salma agreed amiably, clicking her pen against her knee.

“Salma?” The combing had slowed down a little. 

“Mm?” She responded absently, this one student had completely mixed up his past and future tenses and it made for a very confusing read. 

“How do you know that Maman and Papa are in heaven?” 

That got her attention. Salma was careful to not react, she didn’t want her sister learning to be nervous to ask her questions like this.

“Well,” She said carefully. “All good people go to heaven.” 

Imane was quiet as she continued to comb through her sister’s hair in concentration. “And your Maman? Was she good too?” 

Salma lowered her eyes to the carpet, it was one of the few things they’d brought with them from Paris, one that had belonged to her Mother. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “She was.” 

“So Papa will see both of them then!” Imane declared happily. 

It was a challenge then to keep her head still in her attempts to not laugh out loud. Trust Imane to make such an observation. 

Her attempts were partly in vain as her shoulders shook with her contained chuckles, and for that she received another scolding from her toddler sister. For some unplanned and unwritten reason, only Imane was allowed to behave in such a way with her. Something about the natural mutual respect between fellow females. Salma let herself wonder for a moment what it would be like to have only sisters instead. A conversation from the kids’ room interrupted her thoughts. 

“It wasn’t me!”

“It smells like one of yours!” 

“They don’t smell different!”

“Yours do! Your farts smell of celery!” 

Salma grinned at the twins’ exchange. No, she wouldn’t change her siblings for the world.

 

* * *

 

“So what happened was an accident?” Karen looked quizzically up from the couch. The three of them had regrouped at Matt’s place after the interview at the station. There was a lot to catch Karen up on. 

“I mean, the news is calling it a trial bomb, I guess it wouldn’t make sense to frame it any other way though…” She said half to herself. “Not when it happened somewhere so random without any casualties.” 

“It shouldn’t even count as a bomb,” Foggy exclaimed from behind them as he fiddled around in Matt’s kitchen. “It couldn’t have killed a fly! Well, maybe a fly…" 

“But he _was_ trying to make a bomb.” Karen sought clarification in Matt as he paced his own living room.

“At the behest of his new online friends, yeah.” Matt tugged off his tie as he spoke. 

“Why do it on a street corner,” Karen continued as she tried to get all the facts. “Didn’t he know he’d get caught?” 

“He shares a room with his two younger sisters.” Foggy answered, having found three wine glasses. “So I guess this was his idea of a responsible decision.” 

“Two sisters.” Karen repeated quietly, she seemed suddenly subdued.

“You ok?” Matt asked low enough that Foggy didn’t notice.

Karen forced a perky tone as she assured Matt she was fine. It wasn’t Matt’s business to pry, there seemed to be a lot of things they didn’t tell each other. 

When Foggy made his way back to hand them all their drinks, Karen continued with the investigation. “So what do we know about the people who got him into this?” 

“Right now,” Foggy leaned back. “Nada.” 

Karen raised an eyebrow at both of them, “Surely he told you something? If they talked online there’ll be records, the feds could-” 

“The feds don’t know what we do.” Matt interrupted. “And even if they did, they’d either twist this their way or find themselves in the same boat as us.” 

“And what boat would that be?” Karen asked with a frown. Matt gestured to Foggy to explain as he indulged in his own drink. 

“Karim had a Twitter account, like all kids seem to do these days.” Foggy muttered the last part before continuing. “He’d tweeted a few times about some of the bullying he’d experienced in school, and eventually one of his followers started DMing him about his own school traumas. They bonded, and the guy, who Karim says seemed like an Arab American teenager, then told him about this group he’s in.” 

Karen brought a hand to her forehead as she anticipated what was next. 

“Cue the anti-American propaganda.” Foggy finished. 

“So then all the evidence for this is online?” Karen still seemed confused.

“Not quite,” Matt explained, having finished his drink. “He deleted his account a couple weeks ago, when he was told to do so. And since then he’s been getting instructions of what to do in the mail. No return addresses…” 

“Damn,” breathed Karen. “So where do we start?” She looked despondently over at Foggy, who shook his head back at her with what Matt could only imagine were sad eyes. Then seeming to remember what she held in her hand, Karen downed her drink in one go. There were long-term solutions, and then there were short-term solutions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ça va = how are you/are you ok  
> Farsi = the main language in Iran, also called Persian  
> Maman = (French) Mum  
> an obvious one but: Papa = (French) Dad


	15. “I wasn’t here”

Matt landed on the adjacent rooftop with a soft thud. It wasn’t ideal, him being out in full Daredevil get-up in the middle of the afternoon, but while home was in New York’s most populated borough, this was the exact opposite.

He’d avoided the ferry this time, opting for a cab despite the weekend traffic. Karen had gotten a few details on a meet in Port Ivory again, and he’d figured it would be a good time to get some space to clear his head and think about a way to approach their new case. 

The boy had given in easily after Matt’s improvised opening statement, not that he had been likely to hold out in the first place. He was twelve. And in jail. Matt had known from the moment he’d stepped into the station yesterday that the boy was innocent – at least of what the news was saying he was. _Homebred terrorist_. _Radicalized Muslim youth_. Sure, he’d been persuaded to do something stupid, (which fortunately he had not been very good at) but it was clear that he hadn’t meant to harm anyone in the end. The boy had insisted – and Matt knew he was telling the truth – that he’d asked if the end-product would be used on people, and had in turn been assured that all attacks would be in symbolic locations, strategically placed for no harm to actually come to anyone. The naivety of the boy had come as more of a surprise to Matt than to Foggy – who had nodded understandingly and genuinely during that part of the confession. But then, he and Foggy had never exactly shared the same view of the world anyway. 

Matt refocused his attention as the meeting below came to a close. It had been the usual spiel, inspiring words of a New America to disenfranchised locals, some not-so creative ideas on how to bring this about, and some borderline cult-ish routines. Matt rolled his eyes as the ending formalities dragged on the way they always did; he’d been to a few of these by now. 

As the room started to empty, Matt mentally latched on to one individual. The one with the notes, handwritten, conveniently for Matt but also oddly representative of the era these goons were living in. 

A few minutes later Matt was parcouring through the area as he kept track of the man’s car, only to leap on top of it when he was sure he was in a deserted enough area. But there was plenty of that on this island. 

The car swerved off the road, tyres screeching before the passenger-side crashing into a towering ash tree. Matt had flattened himself on the roof to prevent the force from knocking him off. 

Swinging himself to the side, he noted that the man inside was breathing but unconscious, head against his deflated airbag. It was probably easier this way. Reaching through the broken glass to unlock the door, he grabbed the man’s bag and ruffled through it to pull out the file he needed. Now that the man hadn’t seen him, the plan was to skim through the information and return it in tact, so no one suspected an intelligence breach. 

For the topmost paper, Matt pulled off his glove and started running his fingers across the freshly dried ink. He recognized some of the names as ones he’d read before, kids of current members, and the schools they went to. But there were more names on this one, did that mean recruitment had suddenly shot up? 

Wait…something was off here. That didn’t sound like your typical Caucasian name. Or that. Or that. And _that_ was extremely familiar. 

In a flash, the puzzle pieces seemed to put themselves together. Now how was he going to fix this?

 

* * *

 

Salma had only allowed one detour in the essential trip to the store that afternoon, after they’d run out of milk, bread _and_ cereal. Kids apparently don’t function without cereal. Hamza had refused to let her go by herself, and they couldn’t exactly leave the kids at home alone, and the Morales’ were out of town visiting for the holiday season. So the whole troop had made their way out. 

It wasn’t even evening yet but Salma was on edge the whole time. Less than 24 hours after headlines like the ones from yesterday and they should be on lockdown, those were their rules. But she made her silent requests to God and decided to calm down for the extra thirty minutes it took them to all get the exact flavour combination of ice cream they wanted, or needed if you were going to be dramatic about it, which Imane absolutely was. 

“Coloured _and_ chocolate sprinkles pleeeaase,” the little girl dragged her appeal for added cuteness from under her mop of curls. What would have evoked only an eye roll from her siblings seemed to charm the vendor, and he generously engulfed her cone with as many sprinkles as it could take. 

“I didn’t get any sprinkles.” Rayan grumbled, chin tucked into his coat collar that rose to his ears, brushing the ends of his slightly over-grown hair. 

“You didn’t ask for sprinkles,” Hamza said disparagingly as he handed the man some cash. 

“Because I got chocolate chips. They’re nicer than sprinkles.” The boy responded gruffly. 

“Then there’s no problem is there?” Salma spoke before Hamza could respond. When kids were being illogical out of grumpiness, it was best to just shut down the conversation and not humour it. 

“Well _I_ like the sprinkles the best.” Imane declared, enthusiastically nibbling at her ice cream as if it was a giant biscuit. 

“You’re supposed to lick it,” Riyad whispered to her from behind his hand. She shrugged in response and continued to eat it the way she wanted to. Salma had a lot of respect for her self-assurance. 

They sat on the benches just opposite the ice cream stall since Imane was incapable of eating and walking at the same time. She was only four. And she took ice cream consumption very seriously. 

Salma hadn’t gotten any for herself, her stomach was far too queasy as it was. Even in the daylight she felt like a walking target. Isa was sat against her, having had his own ice cream in a cup, he paused midway the motion of bringing the spoon to his lips. 

“Do you want some?” He offered his sister. 

“No thanks,” She nudged him affectionately and let him carry on. He’d seemed much better since Matt had come to see him just two days ago. A part of her was relieved that she hadn’t been there, she felt bad enough as it was, they’d have an easier time sorting themselves out without her around. Matt hadn’t talked to her about it either, but she didn’t feel like he had to as long as he and Isa were on the same page. It looked like he felt that way too. 

It was almost strange to her now how unsurprised she had been when Matt had called yesterday. It’s not that she was expecting it, but something about it felt natural. Only then did it start to dawn on her how much of a role Matt had played in her life since he’d randomly shown up in it, whether it was as the vigilante or the lawyer. She’d needed both at one point or another. And she’d been glad to find out he’d decided to stay. And how much of that was to do with just her brother, or the developing sense of having someone to look out for her, she couldn’t be sure. 

It was Isa’s sudden stiffening that brought her attention back to the present. She turned to see what might have bothered him, usually it was a sound that everyone else registered as background noise. And it _was_ a sound, she just couldn’t hear it as early as he had, because its source was slowly coming towards them from somewhere. 

Salma quickly glanced over at Hamza, who himself had his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the low hum that was getting progressively louder. When his eyes widened with the same fear as her, they simultaneously rose to nudge their siblings out of their cheerful chatter and hurriedly – but without panicking – get them moving towards home. 

The sound was definitely recognisable as chanting at this point, and it didn’t sound as calm as the last ones had. Rayan and Imane were being uncooperative since their afternoon out was being interrupted so brusquely, but with a quick word in their ears from their big brother, they silently complied. 

Salma picked up her baby sister and managed to hold her with one arm while holding tight onto Isa’s hand with the other. A minute into a brisk walk, she froze. The chanting had turned to yelling, and whatever it was that was happening, it had descended into complete disorder. At the sound of a raging mob turning into their street, she did the only thing she could think of, and flattened herself and her two siblings against the closest building, praying to God that they’d be invisible to angry eyes. She turned to see that Hamza was a short distance away from them, but he had done the same, with one twin at either side.

The mob had signs, pickets, tiki torches - she was too stressed to consider the irony of that – and they were a mess within themselves, screaming at no one in particular. It was the stuff of nightmares. 

Imane was sobbing into her shoulder out of sheer terror, and Isa buried his face in the side of Salma’s coat, hugging her waist as she pulled him close. She turned to catch a glimpse of her brothers again, and what she saw made her stomach drop. Hamza was glancing around in utter panic, Rayan in his arms, but no Riyad.

 

* * *

 

Matt was already in a cab back to Hell’s Kitchen when he got a call from Foggy. He was exhausted, if not physically then mentally. His latest discovery had been worse than a slap in the face, more like a kick to the groin. He didn’t know what to think anymore, just that there was a whole lot going on in his city that needed to change. And he had to figure out where to start. So he let the call go to voicemail. 

A second later his burner phone started ringing, and he knew instantly something must be up. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, he partly registered his driver’s body language reacting to his strange idea of a greeting. But that wasn’t important. 

“You need to get back here.” Foggy sounded as drained as he felt. 

“What’s happened?” He demanded more forcefully this time. 

“Riots. Sort of. Started of as protests I guess but a lot of people got hurt. Some are in the ICU.” From Foggy’s end there was a lot of background noise, voices as well as distant sounds of equipment. 

“What are you doing at Metro-General?” 

Foggy paused carefully before answering, “Well, I called Hamza, when I saw what was happening. Just to check in.” 

“Foggy are they ok?” He didn’t appreciate how long it was taking his friend to explain himself. 

“They are now. I’ve just made sure they got home safe.” Foggy tried to reassure him but there was a lot he still wasn’t saying. 

“From the hospital?” 

“Yeah, it was one of the twins. He got hurt in what was basically a stampede-” 

“What! How? What were they doing outside?” 

“Matt calm down, like I said, they’re home, they’re all ok.” 

“How hurt?” He demanded, trying to mask the panic he was feeling. 

Foggy hesitated. “Claire says it looks worse than it is.” 

At the mention of Claire, Matt finally calmed down a bit. “She was there?” 

“Yeah, I asked her to check on him and she said it was fine for them to take him home.” 

That didn’t sound so bad then. 

“Ok,” He said, voicing his composure for his own sake. 

“But still…you should talk to her.” 

“Yeah of course I’ll go see Sal-” 

“Claire. You should talk to Claire.” So there _was_ something Foggy wasn’t saying. And whatever it was, he didn’t want to be the one to tell him.

 

* * *

 

Matt waited impatiently in the small staff break room where Claire had directed him the second she’d seen him. She was busy explaining something to another nurse who had just taken over for her, the medical jargon didn’t usually go over Matt’s head but he wasn’t focused enough to try and follow the conversation. 

A minute later she was back, sighing in her familiar way of greeting him. He could sense her eyes pass over him in her instinctive role as a nurse, and taking in no sight of injuries she nodded to herself. 

“So Foggy said you’d come by.” She said, folding her arms to rest against the wall. 

“He said to come talk to you…” Matt began, slightly confused at why he was asked to be here. 

“Right, because you knew that kid. The one with the big family.” She tilted her head, as if the question as to how they were connected was implied strongly enough for her not to explicitly ask. 

“They were all ok right?” Matt just needed reassurance again. 

“Well not him.” She seemed surprised that he asked. “He was a mess when he got here.” 

Matt found his stress levels rising all over again, “Foggy said you ok’d him to go home…” 

“Reluctantly.” She said shaking her head. “His mum seemed like she was barely holding it together, and at the idea of him having to stay over…well I thought if I didn’t let them go it would be worse.” 

“So how bad then?” Matt ignored the assumption that Salma was the kid’s mother, he wasn’t even sure which kid it was, Foggy just said one of the twins. Why wasn’t anybody just _telling_ him what happened. 

Claire took a deep breath before switching into the nurse mode she had with doctors. “Two broken ribs, and six bruised. He looked pretty bloody when he got in, but most of that wasn’t serious. Stitches to his eyebrow and a pretty bad gash on his arm, but both should be fine. So yeah, he wasn’t dying, but for a five year old that’s pushing what you can take. For a mother especially…” 

“She’s his sister.” Matt finally corrected her, without really thinking about it. He couldn’t imagine any of the kids being that hurt, it filled him with a sudden rage that he had to bite down while he was stuck in this small room. 

“What?” Claire asked, not understanding what he was talking about. 

“There are no parents, they’re all siblings.” The sound of their family home surfaced in his mind as he said it, without his noticing, his fists unclenched. 

“Jesus.” Claire muttered. “That’s rough.” Then she tilted her head in realisation of something. “Wait…she’s that girl you mentioned? The one who was attacked…of course, the blind boy, that makes sense now.” 

Matt nodded, pulling off his glasses to run his hand over his face.

“Hey,” Claire started, her lecture tone switched on. “You’re not finding a way to blame yourself for this are you?” She looked at his resigned expression and immediately lifted her hands to the sky with a roll of her eyes. “What am I saying, _of course_ you are.” 

“I wasn’t here.” He stated bluntly. 

“You weren’t – how are – what does tha” Claire spluttered at him before placing her hands on her hips in what had to be her final words to him on this. “You know what, I’m not even gonna fight you on this. You take self-deprecation to a whole new level you know that? This is why…” She shook her head. “Forget it. Just, go do whatever it is you think you need to do.” 

Matt had an idea of what he needed to do next. So he agreed without a word, but with his hand on the doorknob he received one more comment. 

“But Matt, take care of yourself. Ok?” Claire couldn’t help it, he knew that and so did she. It was part of the reason things were so complicated. 

He couldn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

The kids were in bed, Riyad included. Hamza was probably up, but tonight they were giving each other their space. Sometimes you just needed to be alone with your despair for a while before you can start to deal with it. 

And that’s what Salma was doing. The being alone part. She was sat on the floor in the dark, with her back to the bed, knees against her chest, and her long braid over her shoulder. Her jeans were damp from the tears that had already dried from her face. 

Every time she thought she’d experienced the worst day of her life, something new came up to mock her optimism. She had _known_ it was a bad idea, she had been _sure_ something was off, but she had denied her instinct and had almost gotten her baby brother killed. Riyad was the quietest out of all of them, the one to most easily go unnoticed, the one that now needed help just to sit up, and all because she had given in to demands for ice cream. She knew better. 

She shut her eyes as a small burst of the cold outside air flitted past her, sending her baby hairs across her face. It was getting too far into winter to actually sit outside the way she normally would, so she’d settled for donning an oversized hoodie and leaving her window open. Being cold helped distract her body more than her mind, it meant her insides could worry about staying warm instead of making her nauseous with her own anxiety. But it helped with her mind too. Slowed things down a bit. Even brought her back to the old days sometimes. Not so much tonight. Tonight was about her family now, and how she had almost lost what she had left. 

A soft tap on her window made her blink her eyes open in surprise. It made sense that Foggy would have told Matt what happened. She was very grateful to him for having come to the hospital, and he seemed to know the nurse that had helped Riyad, which made things go a lot smoother than it might have given the chaos the hospital was in at the time. 

Salma didn’t move from her position. She was exhausted enough to close her eyes and expect sleep to come, but experienced enough to know that wouldn’t happen as easily as she wanted it too. 

“It’s open.” She said without pulling her hood up. It was Matt, he was blind anyway. Nevertheless, she found herself turning her gaze back to her jeans as he climbed in. 

“How is he?” Matt asked quietly, still standing by the window.

“He’s asleep.” Salma answered, knowing it wasn’t really an answer. “The nurse said it might take a couple months to fully recover.” She bit her lip before she could start crying again. “It could have been worse.” She finally added. 

“I’m so sorry,” He said. 

Salma gave a half-shrug. It was the thing to say. And she had never understood how people were supposed to respond to that. 

“I was in Staten Island, working on the case and I-” He cut himself off as his tone rose in desperation. It made Salma finally look up at him. Matt had pulled off his mask, he was standing at her window all in black, eyes flitting across the room but never fixing on anything, with an expression she understood all too well. 

“Oh no,” She started, suddenly distracted from her own despair. “Please don’t.” 

Matt stopped and blinked with his eyes on one spot of the floor. 

“Don’t say it’s your fault.” Her tone still carried the astonishment she had that he was blaming himself for this. 

“I should have been here.” Matt replied, unwavering in his guilt complex. It made sense now why he had been so quick to take her words to heart the last time he’d visited. 

“ _What are you talking about?_ ” Salma was basically squinting at him in the darkness, she needed to be sure that he was being serious. 

“This was my responsibility.” Matt stated, as if what he was saying was the obvious truth. 

“Oh Matt,” She sighed as she brought her hands to her temples. “I think I get it now,” She murmured to herself. 

From the corner of her eye she absently registered him wavering on his feet, before his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. 

“Get what?” He finally asked. 

Salma looked up at him, head leaning into her hand as her elbow rested on her knees. “You.” She replied tiredly. “You’ve really let this get to your head haven’t you? The name they’ve given you.” And her eyes wandered over him, finally taking in how tired and normal he looked even in his vigilante outfit. His face was almost frozen as she spoke, like he was focused on not letting his reaction show. She went on anyway, too caught up in her train of thought, “You call yourself the Devil, and you think somehow you’re opposite God himself.” She paused as his only reaction was to blink. Even his hands had stilled unnaturally. “But you’re not. You’re as human as I am.” The words left her so quietly she wasn’t sure that she had heard herself.

She wasn’t sure Matt had heard it either, because he hadn’t moved a muscle. Salma chose to ignore that fact, moving her gaze from his unnerving stillness and resting her eyes on the door that separated her from her siblings. “Sometimes,” She continued without thinking much. “Bad things happen because they need to. And not because…not because we weren’t good enough…to stop it, or to change things, or to somehow…lead the perfect life.” Her own sense of guilt was slowly dissipating as she spoke. 

So she didn’t stop there. “There’s this saying we have, from our Prophet. About not saying ‘if only’, because then that opens the door to the deeds of Satan.” She had told this to Hamza once, when he had found out about their father. He had been angry that he hadn’t been there, that he didn’t get the chance to stop it. “We’re supposed to accept the things that have happened, and to seek help from God, and _not_ feel helpless. Because there’s always a way to move forward.” 

Salma looked back at the vigilante by her window. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, whether any of it meant anything to him. But there was one thing she needed him to understand. 

“I’ve told you this before.” She said with more intent now. “But I think it’s time you believed it. _It’s not right_ that they call you the Devil. You’re anything but.”

Matt never admitted it, and Salma never asked. But in that moment she could have sworn there was a tear on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was my last chapter before another break. I'd love to know what everyone thinks so far!  
> I should be back (hopefully not too long) after New Year’s and I hope you guys are too :D  
> Happy Holidays!


	16. New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I know I am so sorry I did not mean for this to turn into a massive hiatus. I sincerely hope you’re all still there??  
> I have had zero time to dedicate to this and tbh I don’t have much right now either, but it’s been weighing on me and I really want to tie it up properly and without rushing it.  
> That said, I will probably cut down on my final chapter count so I won’t drag it on, and I’m hoping no more breaks.
> 
> Btw I wrote in a one-month hiatus since the last chapter. (Since that was kind of what I’d intended in the first place lol sorry again) And kept it pretty light for my come-back but the plot should pick up again next chapter.
> 
> Hope you like it!

“Calm down, you look fine.” Foggy could hardly abate his own anxiety what with the palpable tension in Karen as she adjusted her dress every five seconds.

“I’m in a room full of misogynistic racists, I don’t _feel_ fine.” Karen hissed back at him as they slowly made their way across the hall.

“Well, this _was_ your idea.” He was still kicking himself that she had talked him into this. Her recent internet activity had someone gotten her an invite to this insanely lavish New Year’s Benefit that Hanson and a string of his followers were attending.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t tell Matt-”

Karen cut him off for the millionth time. “We can tell Matt when we have something. Until then, let’s just keep our heads down, and play the part we need to get information.”

“I’m not double-0-7 Karen, we can’t just undercover our way to the middle of a cult, _what were we thinking?_ ” Oh god, what were they thinking? Foggy had a sudden need to down anything that would numb the current wave of nausea he was experiencing.

“ _Calm down._ ” Karen set her hand on his shoulder in recognition of his panic mode and he allowed himself deep breaths as he paused to take in the room. The high ceiling was lit with extravagant golden chandeliers, reflecting on the equally gold decorations lining, well, everything. Foggy took a moment to register that someone had said something to him, at which point Karen had already taken two glasses for both of them from the tray he had been oblivious to. Any situation that involved waiters in bowties was pretty glaring evidence that he would be out of his element.

Shoving a glass in his hand she declared, “We need to mingle.”

“Karen if you leave me standing by myself I swear on my grandmother’s World War II lucky socks that I will-” 

“Foggy _this is important_.” Karen had that look, and he _hated_ that look. It meant there were no negotiations and no chance at successful pleading, yet he couldn’t help but try anyway. With the full knowledge that he had somehow agreed to come, he still opened his mouth to protest, though not before a much calmer voice intervened in the conversation. 

“If I had a cent for every glance your way I’d probably be able to afford this place.”

Foggy turned to see where the random comment had come from, but the man in question completely ignored him as he stepped closer to Karen. She was looking at him with raised eyebrows and a characteristic twitch poised to act at the side of her mouth. 

“But of course, you shouldn’t be surprised, you’re easily the most exquisite woman here tonight.”

Remembering that he was in fancy company and to mime gagging would be highly inappropriate, Foggy settled for a questioning look towards Karen from behind the broad-shouldered stranger. She gave him the tiniest of nods, and it effectively reiterated the words ‘ _we need to mingle_ ’. 

Sighing in a mix of disgust and resignation, he backed away as Karen played the blushing guest, with only him to notice the seething judgment bubbling under her false flirtations.

This better be worth it, since tonight was clearly going to suck for both of them.

 

* * *

  

“Uno!” Imane was so delighted at her situation that she accidentally waved her last card around for everyone to see.

“Hah!” Rayan exclaimed, “Green nine! You’re so gonna lose.” He taunted the little girl who was now frowning furiously at her only-slightly-bigger brother. 

“That’s cheating!” She cried out. Standing just so she could stamp her tiny foot on the treasured Arab carpet. 

“Not if you showed it to us!” Rayan shot back in triumph, placing down two 5’s in his turn. 

As Imane opened her mouth to screech back, two strong teenage arms swooped her up to spin her around the way she always begged to be played with. As her childish laugh rang through the room, little Rayan scowled at his bigger brother. 

“We were in the middle of a game!” He huffed, arms crossing over his pacman T-shirt. 

“I think she forfeits,” Hamza grinned to his giggling baby sister as she allowed him to drop her onto the couch beside the less grumpy twin. 

Riyad was sat in the carefully upright position that his bandages had forced him to get used to over the last month. Although for the most part he seemed like he was healing quite well, Salma wasn’t taking any chances. Thankfully he had always been attentive to her instructions, and in these last few weeks he had continued to be quietly obedient. While his energetic counterpart had been the real source of her constant worrying, mostly out of his physical enthusiasm to take part in the caring of his injured brother.

Tonight though, Salma wasn’t remotely stressed. It was New Year’s Eve, and she had her whole family together under one roof. Her whole family plus one. 

“Wait here, I’ll be right back!” Isa was saying as he headed carefully towards Salma’s bedroom. His words had been directed at the guest sitting on the floor at one side of the low living-room table. It was weird seeing someone who wasn’t family behaving just like one of them in her own home, but also at this point, not that weird. 

“What’s he gone to get?” Salma questioned as she came over to sit across from the abruptly concluded Uno game. Rayan was still whining about that. 

“He didn’t say,” Matt answered, smiling in response to Riyad’s attempts to console his brother. 

He did look strange sitting there, Salma considered again, now from a closer viewpoint. It had been a while since he’d spent time at the house, and even then he was always in a rush. Both he and Foggy had known taking on this case that it would certainly drag on for months, if not years. But still, it was the start where they’d have the most hurdles to jump. The first priority had been to ensure that their twelve year old client did not get tried as an adult, because of course that would be the first thing that prosecutors would attempt to do. It seemed to be going alright, well, Salma reminded herself, they _were_ supposed to be impressive lawyers. Clearly it had been 24/7 work from them, with Matt always making just enough time to see Isa on Sundays. In fact, the only times he had been around and there was this same sense of calm was when he dropped by some nights in the mask, just to check in.

“You really didn’t have to do this tonight you know, New Year’s Eve and all.” In truth, she had been a bit confused at his enthusiasm to accept Isa’s invitation, but she continued on with a grin that she now knew he could detect even as her voice hid it, “You could have been partying it up with Foggy somewhere.” 

Matt almost scoffed at that. “Foggy was being strangely vague about his plans, in fact I got the feeling he would rather have been here.” When Salma raised an eyebrow he added with a mischievous smirk, “I think he fits in with kids more than he’d like to admit.” 

“He’s good with them,” she admitted with a smile at her baby sister. Imane was now invested in organising the Uno cards according to colour and number, even as Hamza tried to explain to her that they were meant to be mixed up. 

Glancing back, Matt seemed about to say something else when he stopped just as Isa came back out of her room. Salma was surprised to see her kid brother armed with their biggest (and oldest) photo album.

“Found it!” Isa announced, making his way back to the table to lay the old book out in front of Matt. Salma had to make a conscious effort to rein in her mildly escalating pulse – something she had recently become very conscious of around Matt as he gradually revealed more of his Daredevil traits to her. 

“Er Isa, what’s the album for?” In her head she was begging God for it to not be what she was thinking. 

“I want Matt to know more about our family.” Isa’s hazel eyes were actually shining through the thick strands of hair that he let loose over his forehead. Shining. All as part of the ploy that left her completely unable to refuse the following request. 

Matt definitely looked confused, but also curious and so he wasn’t saying anything. 

“Isa…” She started carefully. “You _know_ Matt can’t see the photos.” Matt’s blindness was something she had yet to fully comprehend but surely he couldn’t see photos. 

“I know _that_ , but I can’t technically see them either.” Isa explained. Great…this was going exactly where she had hoped it wouldn’t. “And since you always help _me_ to see them I thought you could do that with Matt as well.” He beamed up, clearly pleased with his idea. 

Salma was trying very hard not to gulp. It seemed like a dramatic reaction to such a simple request. Matt on the other hand had his brow furrowed in genuine interest. There had to be a way to get out of this… 

Isa was already opening the large album to the first page, and he took Matt’s hand and placed it on the first photo. All the while, Matt had an expression of hesitant curiosity, like he wasn’t sure where he wanted this to go.

“This one is of Salma and Papa in Paris. They’re at l’Arc de Triomphe. She can describe it better.” Isa stated cheerfully, tilting his head towards his sister in anticipation. Right, that was her cue. 

“You don’t have to-” Matt suddenly said, seemingly very aware of how uncomfortable she was. Salma glanced between him and her eager seven-year old brother, always wanting to share his world with Matt in as many ways as he could. 

“It’s ok,” She smiled softly, resigning herself to what she was being asked to do. “If you’re interested that is?” 

“Yeah actually,” Matt said, a strange expression on his face. “I’ve never even left the city,” he admitted almost sounding embarrassed about it. Salma wasn’t totally sure how to react to that piece of information, so instead she focused her attention on the photo that now had two hands resting gently on it. 

“Well…l’Arc de Triomphe, well it’s kind of just that. A huge stone arc.” As she said that the details became more vivid in her mind. “Old-school Roman style so it’s super intricate, with all these classical designs and sculptures.” The great white structure had always impressed her, but then she’d been fairly small herself. It wasn’t just the size and design though…

“It’s cold,” she remembered. “The stone I mean. Always cold. Really though what’s cool about it is the names on the inside. 

“Hundreds of names. All engraved in the walls, people who fought, and died.” She paused. “Two hundred years ago.” She said quietly. “Two hundred years later and we can still feel their legacy at our fingertips, carved into this massive monument in the heart of the country.” 

Matt had his gaze fixed on one spot on the table between them, a clear indication that she had his full attention. 

Her own mention of the land of her birth made her lost in the image of the city she still missed. “You can go to the top, and basically see most of Paris from up there. Every house, every building is levelled so that the Eiffel Tower stands out of the landscape like a beacon. It’s not actually that much to look at, except at night when it lights up with every colour you can imagine. Makes the skyline look like a dream. You can’t avoid it anywhere in the city, it’s like it’s always there to remind you where you are. That you’re home.” 

Glancing suddenly to her right she noticed Hamza listening attentively to her reminiscing. She avoided looking at Matt because she knew it would embarrass her so she tried to continue with a different angle. 

“That photo is from the month after my seventh birthday. We’d missed celebrating on time because of my grandfather’s funeral so Papa promised we’d finally get to go to the top of the Arc.” She looked at the picture that was upside down to her, feeling a combined sense of affection and loss. “My mum took it. The photo.” 

The room was mostly silent as she stopped, the only exception was Imane counting cards under her breath as she continued to sort through them. Even the twins were fixated on Salma’s voice when she sounded like this. 

Without a word, Isa lifted Matt’s hand and turned the pages, probably counting to himself since he knew every photo that was on every page. He stopped at one and put Matt’s hand back.

“This one,” he said quietly but encouragingly. Salma was always touched by the sensitivity he had when he asked her about her life before. Before them. For some reason, he really wanted her to share some of that tonight. 

“That one…” Salma quickly cleared her throat when she heard how strained she now sounded. “That one,” she repeated more confidently, “was on Bastille day. The French National Day,” she explained. “It’s of me and my parents at the park before it got dark enough for the fireworks. Although,” She said glancing up at Hamza, “I guess it wasn’t just us.” 

“Hamza was in his Maman’s belly,” Isa grinned in explanation to Matt. Hamza wasn’t smiling though, why would he be, Salma asked herself. Here was a picture of the whole family he had never had. 

“We named him early you know,” Salma said, still looking at Hamza even as he had shifted his gaze to the ground. “Maman regretted that though because I would talk to him _all_ the time. What I did at school, what we were all doing then and there that he couldn’t see,” It occurred to her then that it was probably the first practice she’d gotten in the way she’d had to raise Isa. 

“That day at the park I wouldn’t go play with the other kids,” Salma was getting into it now, a twinkle in her eyes as she continued to the twins who were glued to her story-telling. “Because Maman wouldn’t come with me, I mean she was kind of huge so it made sense. But all I wanted to do was play with my baby brother! So instead I just stood by her the whole time and talked to her belly non-stop. Drove her kind of nuts I think.”

The younger boys laughed, and even Hamza couldn’t help a small smile. Imane finally looked up from her cards to find out what all the fuss was about.

“So that’s Paris.” Salma said jokingly to Matt, who appeared to be quietly enjoying the night’s proceedings. “Arcs and babies in bellies. Nothing you can’t find here I’m sure.” 

“Still sounds pretty special,” He said with more sincerity than what fit the light mood she had tried to steer towards. Out of habit, she responded to the unexpected show of sentiment with a half-shrug and an averted gaze. As if eye contact was relevant to Matt.

 

* * *

  

“I’ve got something,” The whispered words made Foggy choke on his cheese stick as he jumped in reaction. 

“Jesus Karen!” He exclaimed, turning to face his flush-faced co-worker.

“Sorry,” At least she seemed genuinely apologetic, but he’d be expecting far more apologies if he was ever going to get over how awful his New Year’s Eve was playing out to be because of her and her brilliant ideas.

“So I’ve got something.” She repeated, excited but business-like at the same time. Very Karen. 

“Does it explain why their cheese sticks are so gross?” Foggy asked, reaching out for more as he spoke. 

She cast him a disdainful look before dismissing the question and continuing, “Everyone seems to look to Hanson as the ringleader,” 

“I thought we’re supposed to be finding the face behind the face?” He spoke through a mouthful of something that tasted vaguely like feet, while eyeing the stick in his hand with disapproval. 

“Will you stop eating and listen?” The latter part of her chiding came out under her breath as she self-consciously eyed people passing by. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear she continued, “Everyone _except_ a handful, who practically laughed out loud at the idea that he could be running anything.” 

“And why would they admit that to you though?” Foggy asked, concentration refocused now that the pseudo-cheese once in his possession was consumed. 

She shrugged, the flush returning to her face. “They seemed to like me.” 

“The misogynistic racists?” He asked pointedly. 

“Will you stop?” She had a habit of scolding him, didn’t she? “ _I told you_ we are here for information and that _requires_ a little…”

“Double-0-7?” Foggy offered.

“Exactly.” It seemed to Foggy that Karen was trying to reassure herself as much as she was making a case to him, and it prompted him to drop the point. 

“Ok so,” Foggy continued. “We’ve got confirmation of what we had kind of already figured out, now how do we find out who Darth Sidious really is?” He really hoped she had a plan because this whole thing was not a part of his job description. 

“Whoever it is _has_ to be here tonight. Plus they must be super rich. And probably aren’t very vocal about their neo-Nazi views since they avoid the spotlight.” Karen was making this list as she spoke, he could tell. 

“So…anyone here that isn’t Hanson?” Foggy asked, silently begging for her to have a better plan than this. When all she did was look helplessly back at him, he made a mental note to never follow her on her good ideas again.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t it kind of late for you to still be inside?”

Matt turned instinctively as Salma entered the kitchen. He had just come in to put his mug away as the kids were being put to bed.

Salma hummed to herself with what seemed like a sudden thought, “I don’t know if that question could possible make sense in any other context.” 

Matt grinned before replying more seriously, “Usually it would be. But it’s New Year’s Eve, most place are crawling with security. In a couple of hours though I’ll have to swing past the local bars and make sure no one’s having too much fun.” 

Salma was nodding as she leaned against the doorway. There was no one else within earshot so he let himself say what was on his mind.

“It’s cool that you do that with Isa. With the photos I mean.” He hoped bringing it up wouldn’t embarrass her. Her pulse seemed to flutter but she composed herself as quickly as she always did. 

“Not sure it’s such a great thing to be honest. It’s made him pretty attached to the idea of France. Just coz I don’t talk about the bad stuff.”

“What was bad?” Matt couldn’t help the question. And it seemed to surprise her. 

She paused before answering, “It wasn’t as different to the States as you’d think. Not in some ways at least.” 

Matt nodded, not needing her to explain any further. 

“I saw Karim’s mum the other day.” Salma said in a way that suggested to him she had been waiting to bring it up. 

“I can’t imagine what she and her family are going through.” He responded quietly, the soft trembling voice of the kid behind bars always fresh in his mind. 

“She’s grateful.” Salma said to his surprise. “She realises what you’re risking to do this and she’s grateful.” 

Matt never knew how to respond when Salma spoke to him like this. There was such a certainty in the way she looked at the world that it was hard not to just believe her. It was the ever-present struggle of their friendship. 

It took him a moment to realise that she was silently laughing at him.

“What?” He asked in confusion. 

“You.” She chuckled as she turned to walk away. Leaving him alone in her kitchen, he was pretty sure she was still laughing at him.


	17. New Meetings

Matt reached over to stop his alarm. People weren’t supposed to have alarms on holidays, but ever since the Karim case, Nelson and Murdock hadn’t exactly had the space to distinguish between work and non-work hours. 

Blinking at the intensely dark red that was his ceiling, he gave himself some more time to be engulfed in the still calm of silk that always put his body at ease, allowing his mind to wander.

To yesterday…to the last three months in fact. And how progressively different everything in his life had become as a result. He was fully aware that he had been inches from pressing the self-destruct button on it all. Things with Isa and Salma had almost gone the way things always did with him. He’d mess up, someone important to him would suffer for it, there would be nothing he could do, so he would just feel like the wreck that he is. That he was. 

And yet now, while his city was still self-imploding, while his nights were packed with trying to curb the mounting wave of people’s hatred, while he worked seemingly tirelessly to get a young kid out of jail, he still woke up every morning feeling…good. Motivated. Sure of himself…It was new but it was also finally right.

Matt let his arm rest back on his pillow as his thoughts drifted to where they spent the most time outside of case work. “ _It’s not right_ that they call you the Devil. You’re anything but.” Those had been her words. And she had meant them. He wasn’t sure if his current state of mind was because he believed her, or because of the fact that she believed it. Surely it was the latter? Though that of course posed its own set of problems, which he absolutely could not let himself think about. Ever. 

His Catholic guilt had been so much a part of him for so long that he had never considered the possibility that maybe he was holding on to it despite himself. That maybe it wasn’t just everyone else’s voices telling him to get past it, maybe it was in him as well. Maybe he just had to hear it from someone who understood the burden of responsibility, and who had faith enough to match his grandmother.

Matt smiled to himself at the thought. Now wasn’t that a bizarre comparison? On the one hand, he couldn’t think of two people more different. His grandmother with her unwavering, life-defining fear of the Almighty, which she endeavoured to instil in any and all, and Salma, the very definition of unassuming, just a girl in a big city. But they were both confident in a way Matt had never been, both trusting of forces outside their control to make the right decisions. Both strong, despite everything that was thrown at them. Both steadfast in what they believed in. Did he have that? Any of that? 

His phone buzzed with a message, probably Foggy. Matt raised himself off the bed and clicked to listen to the automated voice. Foggy wanted to meet about the case. Strange that he wasn’t hung-over on New Year’s Day but then, he had been uncharacteristically evasive about his plans for last night. Not that it mattered, Matt would probably find out soon and if Foggy had been working on the case then it’s not as if he would complain.

They had this. Matt felt an unfamiliar sense of certainty about that. They were going to figure this out, justice would prevail and the boy would be fine. The city would be fine. He knew this because he was going to make sure it happened. And he had it in him to do it, because today…today like so many days now, today he no longer felt like the Devil.

 

* * *

 

“Are you gonna tell me or keep over-thinking until you explode?” Hamza was looking at her with patronising amusement as he finished pouring milk over his cereal.

“Who says I’m overthinking?” Salma retorted defensively. Twisting the end of her braid around her finger nervously even as she tried to feign nonchalance. 

“Your face does.” Her brother replied through a mouthful of cornflakes. 

The sound of her _nice_ siblings in the other side of the house reminded her not to take the bait to a childish squabble. So she switched herself into a variation of her adult mode and took the seat opposite him before beginning with a tone of formality.

“If you must know, yes, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” Her face was impassive but her hands locked into each other as she forced her thumbs not to twiddle in a show of anxiety. 

He grinned smugly back as if this was a win for him somehow. “Am I in trouble?” 

Salma again reminded herself that this was important and that she could thump him over the head with a reasonable-sized pillow when it was settled. 

“We need your help.” She said simply, suddenly genuine in a kind of resigned seriousness that had the effect of sobering her brother. 

He seemed to think on what information to seek out first before settling on the question, “We?” 

That seemed like a good place to start. “Nelson and Murdock. And…well a whole lot of people actually.” As she said it she realised it was probably a bad direction to go in. “No pressure or anything,” she half-muttered. 

She couldn’t even fully believe she was talking to him about this. When Matt had first brought it up she had vetoed the idea in seconds. It was only after a couple weeks of reflection that she had realised a) If Hamza knew about it, he’d be completely on board, and b) The less secrets she had from him the better, and the most annoying one for parents (plus her) was c) He was mature enough that he had the right to make this call himself.

“So what kind of help exactly?” Hamza put his spoon down in anticipation of whatever was about to be thrown at him. She really hated that she was doing this. 

“Karim Esfahani.” She stated bluntly. Best to get to the point. “Matt’s pretty confident that he was targeted and then motivated to be a potential bomber.” 

“So is the media…” Hamza replied slightly confused, “They even have a word for it remember? _Radicalisation_.” 

“Except it wasn’t extremists.” She could hear enough activity in the living room that all four kids would still be there. 

“What do you-” 

“It wasn’t extremists who tried to _radicalise_ him. It was _them_.” 

It took about a minute for the words to sink in. And when it did it evoked more of a reaction than Salma had anticipated. The normally affectionate brown eyes (that were the only give-away that he wasn’t as angsty as his age suggested) were intensifying to a level of fury that she had only seen in him once before. 

A small part of Salma’s brain wanted to tell him to eat up before his cornflakes got soggy, another part wanted to tell him everything was gonna be ok, but whatever was in control of her actions right now made her sit in the silence and let him process without her mothering intervention. 

“They got to him online.” The stiff low pitch of his voice was clearly forced. 

Salma nodded, unsure as to the exact source of her nerves in the moment. 

“And posed as one of us.” He continued, explaining it aloud to himself and seeking confirmation. 

She nodded again.

“And Matt has evidence to charge them with.” He went on, this time the hint of a question.

Salma hesitated before shaking her head. “Nothing.” Her voice conveyed a stronger sense of calm than what she actually felt. 

She restrained a reaction as the teenager opposite her slammed a fist to the table. This is why she had been reluctant about him boxing but now was not the time to bring it up. 

“It’s not just him,” she added quietly, tightening her grip on her own hands to stop herself from reaching out to take his. 

“Yeah that makes sense now.” He shook his head in frustration. “Some of the guys…it just makes sense now.” He buried his forehead in his hands in a position that Salma the Teacher knew all too well. She waited for him to prompt her when he was ready for it. 

“So what do you need from me?” He looked up suddenly remembering how this conversation had started. 

Her hands unclenched, thumbs free to distract her as she hesitated. “Matt and Foggy are…well they’re having trouble getting the information they need.”

Hamza nodded, suddenly getting it. They both recalled how he had first responded to the two white lawyers. Why would any brown boy in Hell’s Kitchen react differently?

“I can do that.” He stated calmly, even though she hadn’t spelled out anything for him to do yet. His brown curls were starting to edge past his ears and it gave him such a youthful look that she was almost overwhelmed with familial instinct. 

“Hamza,” She began, but he picked up on her tone immediately. 

“I _can_. And of course I’ll be careful, but we’re not debating this.” He looked sternly back at her before adding, “It’s like you said, this is important to a whole lot of people.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s got to be her.” Karen was sure. The face looking back at her on her screen was of a middle-aged upper-class white woman, high cheekbones and proud eyes, with auburn hair professionally curled so it didn’t drift past the base of her neck. 

“We had 38 people on our list _just seven hours ago_!” Foggy exclaimed incredulously. “How could you possibly have narrowed it down already?” 

Karen didn’t answer, skimming through her tabs for the exact information she needed to look back over.

“Did you come straight here last night? I mean this morning.” Foggy added with a huff of irritation.

“No but I’ve been here since 5.” She replied without looking up. Even then, she could picture his reaction. Foggy could sound weirdly parental sometimes about things like sleep, food, and general health. She appreciated the sentiment but in practice it could be irritating.

Sensing a lost cause, or probably just because he was almost as sleep-deprived as her, he sunk back into the chair he had pulled out from his office. 

“So why her?” He asked tiredly.

“She fits the bill like no one else does.” It was true. Marie Duval was every bit the perfect candidate for a group like this. Money, prestige, subtle public image but known and liked enough to be elected into congress. Plus, she was a democrat. Republicans were too obvious. 

“That doesn’t sound very concrete Karen,” Her exhausted colleague was rubbing his eyes as he instantly undermined her brain-numbing hours of effort.

“ _I’m sure_.” She said almost through gritted teeth. 

Foggy opened his eyes to lean forward in his chair, “And that’s great but it’s hardly court-worthy evidence-” 

“So then we-”

Karen stopped abruptly as the office door opened and Matt came in wearing his usual office attire. 

“Matt? What are you doing here, it’s New Years Day.” Her surprise had distracted her from greeting him and she felt stupid for that as soon as it came out.

“Foggy said he had something for the case…” Matt trailed off as if he was piecing something together as he spoke. With his gaze averted she didn’t feel as bad shooting her seated co-worker with a death-glare. He shrugged almost indifferently in response. 

“We might as well tell him about it now.” He laid his head back onto the chair and looked as if he might drop off then and there. Making him come in when he was this tired and grouchy probably hadn’t been her best idea. 

“Tell me what?” Matt asked as he casually went through his routine of removing his jacket and folding his cane.

On realising that Foggy wasn’t going to help her out with an explanation, Karen sighed and decided to start with, “We went to a party.”

 

* * *

 

“I wanted to tell you but you know how she is.” Foggy couldn’t help but be both apologetic and defensive. They were sat in Matt’s office waiting for a last-minute scheduled meeting with a client, and since they happened to be at the office anyway on a holiday, they didn’t really mind. They were only taking small cases while Karim’s was still going on, this one was a simple rent dispute. 

“You had no idea what you could be walking into,” Matt was still very obviously trying to contain his anger at all this. 

Foggy shrugged, “I was pretty sure there’d be booze. And I thought the food would be better but it was pretty sub-par.” 

“Foggy.”

“Matt _._ ” He replied calmly. Even though he had felt it was only fair to keep Matt in the loop, it hadn’t been out of a concern for safety. It was a charity benefit for Christ’s sake, not an underground meeting involving robes. 

“I take it you don’t approve of this new information then?” He asked pointedly. He had been taking that tone a lot recently. 

Matt sighed and rubbed his forehead, clearly with too many thoughts on the matter to express all at once. “Fine ok, so this congresswoman. Duval. What do we know about her?”

“Just that Karen is ‘pretty sure’ she’s the head of an evil white supremacist group currently threatening the safety of the inhabitants of New York.” Foggy had his usual cheery voice on. It generally worked to his advantage to sound like that in the company of gruff serious lawyers who could only really be taken down when they were first taken off guard. 

“Pretty sure.” Matt repeated back sceptically. 

Foggy sighed, “We both know Karen’s good. And we’ll look into it, and if it _is_ Duval then we’ll find something. It’ll be fine.” It was probably his exhaustion talking. These last weeks it had been him constantly panicking while Matt had that annoying calm about him. Matt had been different though, not stressing about moral obligations and just doing the work that needed to be done. Maybe that was rubbing off on him today.

Matt at least seemed reassured if not less angry. At least for now they had another case to distract them with.

 

* * *

 

It was a relief to Karen that now the low voices in Matt’s room signified an actual meeting and not just Matt and Foggy discussing her. That was what it had felt like anyway when they had excused themselves into the office to prepare for a meeting that had just been called in. 

Karen glared at the picture of the woman still sitting on her screen. While there had been plenty of internet sleuthing to narrow down her search, once it came to the last five, most of it was instinct. After listening to a YouTube speech of one of Duval’s rallies…there was just something about the way she talked around race issues in the city, something she wasn’t saying that she basically _was_ saying…about how the people would handle it themselves…for the best outcome for everyone. The way she had put it…well it sent another shiver down Karen’s spine. 

With renewed determination she opened another tab and braced herself for another hour of detective work. She was going to get to the bottom of this, she just was. Somehow. 

A soft knock sounded at the door and Karen looked up in surprise. Had everyone forgotten that it was New Years? 

“Come in.” She called out. 

A young woman entered hesitantly, glancing first at Matt’s closed office door before noticing Karen at the reception. The first most noticeable thing about her was the deep red scarf that covered her hair then hung loosely over one shoulder. As she turned, her dark eyes softened in a way that made her polite smile seem genuine. 

Karen stood up, though she wasn’t completely sure why.

“Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock. Can I help you?” 

The woman stepped closer and seemed slightly unsure of what to do, hands nervously sliding along the bag strap that lay over her dark coat. Karen wasn’t caught too off guard, she was used to easing in clients who had never met with a lawyer before. 

“Sorry I didn’t realise there’d be any meetings today.” The woman’s smile turned apologetic. 

It made sense to think that, but then Karen figured, why would she think they were open at all on a holiday? 

The woman then seemed to remember formalities and she quickly held out her hand, “I’m Salma. You must be Karen?” The question was hesitantly delivered but her eyes were confident. 

“Of course!” Karen said suddenly piecing it together. She took Salma’s hand in what might seem like a strange enthusiasm, but in truth she had been curious about this woman for months now. Foggy had never mentioned how pretty she was.

“You’re Salma! I’ve been hearing so much about you!” Karen signalled to the chair Foggy had left out and took her own seat behind the desk. 

“Oh,” Salma seemed embarrassed at that as she lifted her bag off and took a seat. 

“Oh! Nothing confidential!” Karen said hurriedly, waving her hands as she remembered that Salma had been a client as well. “I just mean as Matt’s friend, he talks about you and your family a lot.” 

“Yeah he’s got quite the fan club in my house,” Salma replied politely, with a small smile of affection.

“I think it’s him that’s the fan,” Karen laughed, determined to make this woman comfortable. “Can I get you anything? We um, we don’t really have anything besides water.” 

“I’m alright thanks,” she said reassuringly. “I actually just came by on the way home to see if Matt had a minute, but if you guys are working today then maybe I’ll just call him later.” 

“Oh I don’t think they’ll be long!” Karen said quickly, unsure again as to why she was being so obvious at trying to be friendly. 

Fortunately, the office door opened just as she said that and the three men walked out while still concluding their conversation. 

“If you can get us those papers by next Friday then we should be good to go! Any updates though and just give us a call Mr Walker.” Foggy was always good with elderly folk, and the client in question seemed pleased with the outcome of their meeting. Bidding his new lawyers a Happy New Year, and tipping the hat he had just put back on towards Karen, he made his way out. 

“He’s from Alabama.” Foggy explained to Karen as the door clicked shut. 

She was too distracted by another observation to appreciate the Southern manners that had just graced their office. With the tall office chair to keep her from view, Salma had silently faced away from the door until the older man left, at which point she had glanced back where Matt was stood still as if he was waiting for someone to say something. 

“Salma!” Foggy suddenly said as he noticed her. 

“Hi Foggy, good to see you’re ok.” She grinned.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked confused. 

“Matt seemed to think your secret New Year’s Eve plans might end, um, unfavourably…” Salma was still grinning as Matt now had the opportunity to look embarrassed. 

“Matthew?” Foggy turned to his friend solemnly. “Is this true? Did you speak ill of your best friend in the whole world?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it Franklin.” His friend retorted with a classically Matt Murdock smile. 

Foggy shook his head disapprovingly and addressed Salma again. “So, how are the kids?” 

“Oh!” She said suddenly, reaching into her bag. “Yeah, good,” she continued rummaging through it. It sounded like there was a lot more in there than what it appeared to hold. Finally fishing out a partly crumpled paper, she handed it over to Foggy. “Imane drew this for you.” 

“Aw that’s pretty.” He said smiling as he looked over it. 

Salma opened her mouth then closed it again. She hesitated before finally saying, “It’s um, it’s you.” 

Karen had to stifle the laughter bubbling out at the look on Foggy’s face. 

“Me? I look like Rapunzel!” He exclaimed, clearly offended. 

At that Karen burst while Matt couldn’t hold in his own chuckles. Salma was biting her lip with a guilty grin. 

“Well,” Foggy huffed. “At least she thinks I’m pretty.” He spoke with mock seriousness as he carefully folded the paper and slid it into his shirt pocket. Patting it in place he said formally, “Please thank the artist for me, I will be sure to treasure it." 

“You should thank her yourself!” Salma seemed much more natural now that Foggy and Matt were there. “Next Thursday dinner is at our place, you’re all more than welcome to come!” She said turning back to Karen.

“Oh,” Karen said taken by surprise. The offer had seemed genuine.

“Thursday it is,” Foggy answered for them. “I wouldn’t refuse your cooking for an unlimited tab at Josies.”

Both Karen and Matt and looked at him disbelievingly, while Salma just barely bit back a smirk.

“Well,” he hesitated. “It would depend on my mood.”

Shaking his head at his friend, Matt finally stepped forward and nodded towards his office.

“Did you need to see me?” Matt asked Salma in a gentle tone Karen wasn’t used to hearing from him in the office.

Salma seemed to hesitate. “Kind of yeah, but I don’t actually have a lot of time…” 

“I need to get back as well, how about I walk you home?” He was already putting his jacket on. 

“Sure,” Salma agreed gratefully. As she stood, Karen followed suit. Salma thanked her out of politeness and expressed the usual, ‘It was nice to meet you’, ‘Look forward to seeing you for dinner’…that kind of thing. Karen just smiled and reciprocated as her brain worked to process what else was going on here that she hadn’t seen coming.

When the door closed after both Matt and Salma, Foggy was about to enter his own office when she stopped him with a question. 

“Hey Foggy…” She was still standing, her fingers tapping her desk as she tried to make sense of it. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are those two…” 

He blinked blankly at her before his eyes lit with understanding. “Oh! No. I mean…no. I mean I get it, but no. You know?” 

She just stared at him while he swayed uncomfortably.

“I mean…” Foggy scratched at the back of his head as he tried to find the words. “I thought so too, but…I don’t think she’s…and then there’s Matt…and well…” 

Karen had never seen him this flustered. It would have been funny if she hadn’t been so confused. And curious. 

Finally he sighed and simply declared, “I don’t think it’s ever gonna go there.”

Not the answer she was expecting, but it’ll have to do. For now.

 

* * *

 

“So he’s on board?” Matt asked as the two of them neared the end of the street corner. 

“To no one’s surprise,” Salma sighed, hands kept warm in her coat pockets as the January air felt both soothing and harsh to her cheeks. 

“But you’re worried,” He replied grimly. He was using his cane as they walked and the tick of it was always comforting to her, like she was with Isa. 

“I’m always worried,” She said dismissively with a laugh. “But he wants to help and if I think he can too then I can hardly deny him that.” 

Matt nodded in understanding, a frown still fixed on his face. She knew that he had been reluctant to suggest it in the first place. Not wanting to put anyone, especially her family, in danger. But as a lawyer he could be a lot more pragmatic than when he was the man in the mask. She had picked up on that too. 

She realised that the Karim case was new territory for him because to get someone off the hook was much harder than catching a criminal. Especially when the law got extra confusing for terrorist cases. No, he needed someone to get information, and to do it above board. Hamza was the best chance that poor kid had. 

“So Karen seems really nice,” She said suddenly remembering that she had finally met the third member of Nelson and Murdock. 

“Yeah, she’s great. She’s been a huge help on this case as well.” Matt was complimenting her but she could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. When she didn’t push, he conceded anyway. “She has a tendency to not keep me updated for the sake of not worrying me.” 

Salma couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I guess we’re all a little too caught up in assuming everyone’s else’s feelings sometimes. Though my guess is she’s usually right?” They turned another corner to the street of her apartment. 

“And what makes you say that?” He replied sounding vaguely offended.

She grinned slyly, “Instinct. I like her.” Her announcement reminded her vaguely of how Imane would talk. “She seems capable. And I know you, you do worry easily, and when you do your boundaries get dodgy.” 

“My boundaries?” He asked, definitely sounding offended. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, holding open the door to the building. “Boundaries. You know that thing that stops you from interfering where you shouldn’t? Yeah, that.” 

He scowled as he walked past her into the lobby. “I have boundaries.” He practically grumbled the words and it sounded so childish that Salma had to chuckle, earning her another scowl. 

“Have you had lunch?” Salma asked as they stepped into the lift. “Hamza’s supposed to be cooking…so it’ll probably be cup noodles.” 

Matt abandoned his prickly mood and seemed to consider it. “Sure, why not.”

Stepping out onto her floor, Salma fished inside her bag for the key. But before she could reach for the lock, the apartment door opened for her. Hamza stepped out, eyes nervous and hesitant. 

“Hey,” Salma greeted him suspiciously. “How did you-” 

“I heard the lift.” He said hurriedly. “Listen, um, before you come in…” 

“Everything ok Hamza?” Matt sounded too serious, and it made Salma glance at the semi-closed door her brother was still holding. Something was going on inside that Matt didn’t like. 

Hamza hesitated again as he looked at Matt. When Salma raised her eyebrows at him, he relented.

“Amir’s here.”

Her brain paused as her younger brother looked down at her, eyes angled in concern and anticipation. _Amir’s here_.

“Amir.” She repeated without thinking. 

“Yeah,” He said nervously. Behind them, Matt was silent but clearly listening carefully. 

“ _Here?_ _Inside?_ ” She had to clarify. 

“Yeah,” He said again, clearly stressed about it. 

“Is that Salma?” Said a familiar voice from inside her apartment. 

As Hamza looked behind him in a panic, Salma was sure her heart rate had catapulted to something that would require explaining later. 

“It’s fine,” She murmured to her younger brother. “Really.” She added, more assertively. 

The door opened wider as a young man came into sight. That second she had to take him in felt far too long for comfort. He still had light brown dishevelled hair, but shorter than he used to keep it, a jaw that looked as if it now skirted the boundary of being unshaven or hosting a beard, and a glowing smile at the sight of her.

“Salma!” He managed. Clearly as lost for words as she was. 

“Amir,” She responded, with a tone of such formality that the hurt was clear across his eyes. “We weren’t expecting you.” She continued, trying to mask her shock with polite surprise. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” He said softly as words she couldn’t articulate flashed between them in a look of understanding. Suddenly she noticed that Amir’s eyes had flitted to something behind her. She almost jolted when she realised. 

“Matt, this is…um, Amir. An old family friend.” 

Matt nodded in his general direction. 

“Amir, Matt is…our…lawyer.” 

Lawyer? She wasn’t sure why she had said that, and Hamza only offered a questioning look for a moment before composing himself to not disrupt the scene. She didn’t even want to imagine how Matt had reacted behind his glasses. 

Amir however seemed unfazed. “Hi,” he said, holding out his hand. It seemed that he hadn’t noticed the cane, and Salma quickly shifted so that he could see the long white stick telling him to put his hand away. He listened.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt offered politely but with a stiffness that made Salma groan internally. “I should get back to the office.” He continued quickly. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he added to Salma, as if they had just had an official meeting. 

She bit back the apology burning in her throat but he had turned to leave as quickly as he always did, while she on the other hand was being tugged back into the house by a little girl who had a very important question for her. 

“Salma! Who is this man who says he knows you?”


End file.
